# Chapter 7: The Voice
Sleep came eventually.
Yunar felt himself sink into the familiar darkness, expecting the cosy living room, or the kitchen smelling of spices, or maybe the beach with the sound of the waves.
But when he opened his eyes, he was somewhere else entirely.
---
Wind.
That was the first thing he registered. Strong, cold, cutting. Pushing against his body with enough force to make him stagger.
Yunar blinked, disoriented.
He was standing on a rooftop terrace.
Not an ordinary one. One at the top of an impossibly tall building. So tall that the city lights below looked like distant stars. The sky above was dark — not the darkness of night, but something deeper. Empty. As though the entire universe had been sucked away, leaving only... nothing.
Yunar took a step back, instinctively moving away from the edge. His heart hammered violently against his ribs.
*Where am I?*
*This isn't... this isn't like before.*
"You must be so confused, aren't you?"
The voice came from behind him.
Yunar spun around so fast he nearly lost his balance.
And then he saw her.
An elderly woman was standing just two metres away. She leaned heavily on a dark wooden cane, her back slightly curved under the weight of years. Her hair was completely white — not the silver-white of the woman in his dreams, but the pure white of old snow. Deep wrinkles marked her face, and her eyes...
Her eyes were a grey so pale they were almost transparent.
She stared at him with an intensity that made Yunar want to step back even further.
But he couldn't move.
Because he recognised that voice.
*That* voice.
The one that always came. The one that always tore him from the dreams. The one that ordered, demanded, shouted.
*"See reality."*
Yunar's eyes went wide, his breath catching. "You..."
The old woman tilted her head slightly, and something that might have been a smile touched her lips. But there was no warmth in it. "Yes. Me."
"Who... who are you?" The words came out trembling.
"Someone trying to help you." She took a step forward, the cane striking the concrete floor with a hollow sound. "Although you have made that incredibly difficult."
Yunar felt his legs shaking. He wanted to run. He wanted to wake up. He wanted anything except to be there, in that impossible place, facing that impossible woman.
"Don't be afraid of me," she said, and there was something almost gentle in her tone now. "What you are living here is nothing but a dream."
*A dream inside a dream?*
"But I can see that you've grown attached to a family," she continued, those transparent eyes studying him with surgical precision. "A family that your subconscious created for you."
The words hit Yunar like physical blows.
*Created.*
*Subconscious.*
*Not real.*
"No..." The word came out as a faint whisper.
The old woman sighed — a tired sound, weighted with the burden of countless repetitions. "Yunar. Listen carefully to what I am about to say." She struck the cane against the ground with force, and the sound echoed like thunder. "See reality more clearly, young man."
"I don't—"
"You need to wake up." Her voice grew firmer. More urgent. "Not in the way you have been waking up every night. You need to truly wake up. Do you understand?"
Yunar felt his fingers trembling violently. He pressed his hands into fists, trying to control them, but it was useless.
"The woman..." He forced the words out. "The little girl... they are..."
"Constructs." The old woman said without hesitation. "Creations of your own mind. Beautiful, yes. Comforting, certainly. But not real."
"You're lying."
"I am telling the truth." She took another step forward. Now she was close enough that Yunar could see the deep lines around her eyes. "And deep down, you know that. Why do you think you always feel so divided? Why do you think the tears never stop?"
"I—"
"Because part of you knows." She pointed her cane at his chest. "Part of you has always known."
The rooftop began to shake beneath Yunar's feet.
The dark sky above began to crack — fissures of white light exploding through the void.
"Remember," the old woman said, her voice echoing as though it came from everywhere at once. "The truth is waiting. You only need the courage to see it."
"Wait—" Yunar reached out. "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"
But the old woman was already disappearing, dissolving into particles of light.
Her final words drifted through the air:
*"Because someone has to."*
And then everything fell apart.
---
Yunar woke up with a violent jolt.
It wasn't gradual. It was instantaneous — one second he was on the impossible rooftop, the next he was back in his room.
The tears were already falling. Torrents of them, soaking his cheeks, the pillow, everything.
And then he noticed.
There was weight on his chest.
Something warm. Soft. Breathing.
Yunar looked down.
Alya was lying half on her side, her head resting on his chest, one arm draped over his waist. She was still asleep, her breathing slow and steady, completely unaware of the chaos happening inside his mind.
*How long has she been like this?*
*All night?*
The tears kept falling, faster now, impossible to stop.
Alya stirred slightly. Her eyes opened — slowly, drowsy. Then she saw his face.
"You're crying again," she murmured, her voice still rough with sleep.
Yunar couldn't respond. His throat was too tight.
Alya blinked fully awake, and then realised the position she was in. Her eyes went wide, and she pulled away quickly, tugging the sheet up to cover herself to the neck.
"I... I..." Her face was completely red. "I wasn't resting on you for that long."
Yunar just looked at her. Through the tears. Through the confusion. Through everything.
"It's okay," he said finally, his voice coming out rougher than he intended.
"No, seriously, I wasn't—" Alya was clearly mortified. "I wasn't. I swear. I..."
"It's okay," he repeated.
"I'm not lying."
"I know."
Silence.
Alya pulled the sheet tighter, avoiding his eyes. "Are you... are you okay? You look..."
*Destroyed. Broken. Lost.*
"I think I need to take my medication," Yunar said, getting up from the bed.
His legs were shaking when he stood. He had to hold onto the wall for a moment to steady himself.
He went downstairs slowly. The house was quiet — his mother was probably still asleep. He went to the kitchen, picked up the medication bottles, and tipped the pills into the palm of his hand.
Three small tablets.
*"What you are living is nothing but a dream."*
*"A family your subconscious created."*
He put the pills in his mouth and swallowed them with a sip of water.
He stood there, hands resting on the counter, head down, trying to breathe.
*She's not real.*
*The little girl isn't real.*
*None of it is real.*
When he returned to the room, Alya was already up, straightening her clothes, trying to look at least minimally presentable.
"I... I should go," she said quickly. "My parents will be worried."
"I'll walk you."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to."
---
The walk to Alya's house was silent.
The morning sun was beginning to appear, painting the sky in soft shades of pink and gold. The streets were empty, except for a few early delivery workers and elderly people out for their morning walk.
Alya glanced at him occasionally, opening her mouth as though about to say something, then closing it again.
When they reached the front of her house, she stopped at the gate.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For... for everything. For letting me stay. For walking me home. For..."
"You don't have to thank me."
She bit her lip, hesitating. Then she leaned in quickly and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.
"See you at school?"
Yunar nodded, unable to speak.
She went through the gate and disappeared inside.
And Yunar stood there, alone on the empty street.
---
The walk back home took longer than it should have.
Yunar moved slowly, feet dragging, head down.
The tears kept falling.
And for the first time, he knew exactly why.
*She's not real.*
*The little girl isn't real.*
The old woman's words echoed in his mind, relentless, impossible to ignore.
"It's all a dream," Yunar murmured to himself. His voice was broken. "It's all a dream."
More tears.
"It's nothing but a..." He choked on the words. "Dream."
But if it was only a dream, why did it hurt this much?
If it wasn't real, why did it feel more real than anything in this world?
The woman's face appeared in his mind — her smile, the way she laughed at his bad jokes, how she held her daughter with such care.
And the little girl. The small silver-haired girl who called him Daddy with such certainty. Who built crooked towers and drew families on sheets of paper.
*"Daddy, come play with me!"*
Yunar stopped in the middle of the pavement.
His legs wouldn't hold him anymore.
He leaned against a lamppost, sobbing openly now, not caring who might see.
"It's all a dream," he repeated, his voice breaking completely. "It's all a dream. It's nothing but a... dream."
But God, how he wished it were real.
---
*END OF CHAPTER 7*