Even as a child, the city streets never felt entirely ordinary. Neon lights bounced off wet pavement, strange sounds echoed from narrow alleys, and the hum of distant traffic created an ever-present tension. I learned early that life could be unpredictable—but even I couldn't have predicted the patterns that would haunt me for years.
There was a girl—orange-haired, impossibly bright—who became my playmate. Her name was Irina Shido, though I barely understood who she was at first. We ran through alleyways together, chased each other around the playground, and shared secrets no one else would hear. She laughed easily, teased relentlessly, and somehow always seemed one step ahead, disappearing just when I thought I had caught her.
At first, I thought it was normal for kids to play like that. But there was something strange about her presence—an uncanny awareness in her eyes, a knowingness that felt far beyond her years. And even as we played, I sometimes caught glimpses of her lingering at corners or in shadows, watching more than participating.
Other events followed a similar pattern. Fleeting shadows in the alley that didn't belong. Faces that felt familiar though I had never seen them before. Whispers in the wind that vanished when I turned. Alone, each small occurrence could be dismissed, but together, they left me uneasy, a gnawing sense that the world was far larger—and far stranger—than I understood.
Even so, I couldn't ignore the moments of joy. Irina and I would race through narrow streets, dare each other to climb fences, or hide from imaginary monsters in abandoned lots. She was fearless, mischievous, and relentless—qualities that drew me in and kept me alert. Our laughter echoed off the concrete walls, a fragile shield against the strange and unpredictable world around us.
Yet even then, the unease lingered. Patterns too precise to be random. Coincidences that made my young mind itch with questions. And Irina—playmate though she was—remained a puzzle, a thread connecting the fragments of my past, a shadow whose significance I could not yet name.
I didn't understand it then, but I would. Eventually, all of these pieces—the glimpses, the coincidences, the fleeting moments with Irina—would come together. And when they did, nothing in the life I had known would feel safe, familiar, or ordinary ever again.