Tethered Souls | Books 1, 2, and 3

{Book Two} 112 | Memory?/Dream?/Vision?

∞ The Tethered Ones ∞

Chapter 42

━━─── • ───━━━

• Amir •

Amir.

He heard his name being called out in various tones and at various times. He thought he recognized some of them, with Luna's voice being the most prominent. Sometimes she just said his name, and other times she was talking to someone else, having a one-sided conversation.

"Faisal is concerned about you, A. Everyone is, including Ethan."

Ethan? That had to be a lie, but who was concerned? Amir's mind was clouded with sleep, and he was simply tired and wanted to rest. Nothing to be concerned about.

"You have to come back to me, Amir." In the calming darkness, Luna's voice was a velvety, comforting whisper. "I need you, baby."

He wanted to do what Luna asked because she wasn't one to beg for anything, but she wasn't going away, and his dreams were calling him.

And Amir dreamed he was at home.

He was immediately drawn to the kitchen as he strolled through the quiet living room, which smelled of rosemary and thyme.

His mother sat at the kitchen island, her dark hair pulled back in a bun and her smooth ivory blouse wrinkle-free.

Her.

Maryam Khan.

Pure Soul.

Nurturer.

Mother.

Prisoner.

He came to a halt, unable to move as he stared at her, his heart racing when a slew of emotions burst within him. Sadness was there, like a toxin. Confusion was also present because he knew he was dreaming, but this felt like a memory, and beneath those tumultuous, explosive emotions was also excitement. Despite everything he'd been through, he was delighted to see her. Relieved.

She sipped from her cup while leafing through a cookbook that he couldn't see, and he soon noticed that the aroma of rich coffee and other foods had filled the room.

Vinegar. Basil. Cardamom. Cumin.

Pakistan.

He took another step, willing his legs to move, and then stopped. Something about the dining room table piqued his interest. A tall cylindrical vase filled with long gladiolas in white, pink, and red sat in the center, flanked by two tapered candles in iron holders. There had never been flowers there before. He recalls this because his mother did not want a flower arrangement to clutter the table. She'd previously stated that she only liked flowers on the table during holidays, and this did not appear to be a holiday memory.

His gaze was drawn to the wall. A strange painting hung there. A Watercolor background of the mountains in Islamabad. He gradually returned his attention to his mother. He was almost afraid that if he spoke, she'd vanish and return to her cell.

He took another step forward before stopping again. Something had spilled across the hardwood floor, leaving a small stained spot. It had been scrubbed clean, but not thoroughly.

"Don't be concerned about the floor. I'll have it replaced soon. We'll make sure the kids are more cautious the next time."

He jerked his head up and held his breath.

Children?

Maryam cocked her chin slightly to the right. "I'm glad you're here. You can help me with the food."