Chapter Fifteen : Niamh Pae Nai

It's already dark outside when Kai leaves the little convenience store, his silhouette swallowed by the night's embrace. Niamh remains rooted to the spot, her eyes following his retreating figure until he's nothing but a fading memory of the day's light. She takes a deep breath, the chill of the evening air seeping into her bones, and turns to face the dimly lit interior of the shop. The bell jingles a mournful tune as the door swings shut, echoing through the quiet street like a ghostly whisper.

Mr. Helal Mia , the store's owner, shuffles in, his usual gruff demeanour magnified by the shadows cast by the flickering fluorescent lights. His eyes, half-lidded and red-rimmed from a lifetime of late nights, narrow in annoyance as he glares at Niamh. The scent of stale cigarette smoke clings to his worn cardigan like a second skin, a testament to his personal battles with insomnia and stress. He mutters under his breath about the noise, a clear jab at Kai's energetic farewell. Niamh's heart sinks, the weight of his accusation pressing down on her like a leaden blanket. She's always been so careful not to disturb the old man in the house attached to the store, his temper as unpredictable as a stormy sky.

"What's the racket about?" he snaps, his voice crackling like a poorly tuned radio. "Can't a man get some peace around here?"

Niamh jumps, startled by his sudden presence. She's been lost in thought, her eyes unfocused and her mind racing with the revelations of the past few weeks. The Infinity Prism's power is growing within her, whispering secrets and warnings that she struggles to understand. "I'm sorry, Mr. Helal Mia ," she says meekly, her voice barely above a murmur. "It won't happen again."

Mr. Helal Mia harrumphs, his scowl deepening. "It'd better not," he warns, his words carrying the gravitas of a man who's seen too much in his long life. His eyes dart to the clock on the wall, its hands ticking away the precious moments of his sleep. "You know how important it is for me to rest," he says, his voice a mix of exhaustion and irritation.

Niamh nods, her gaze dropping to the floor tiles, each one a dull reflection of her own tired eyes. She's aware of the tension between them, a taut thread stretched to its breaking point. "I'll be more considerate," she promises, her voice softer than the rustle of leaves in an autumn breeze.

"You'd better," Mr. Helal Mia says, his voice a thunderclap in the quiet shop. His eyes rake over her, his expression a scathing appraisal. "Even if I sold you, you wouldn't be worth a single item on these shelves," he spits out, his words as harsh as shards of ice.

Niamh feels the sting of his words, a cold realization seeping into her core. She's always felt like an outsider, a stray picked up by the universe and left on the doorstep of this mundane existence. But now, with the Infinity Prism's whispers echoing in her mind, she knows there's so much more to her than meets the eye. Yet here she is, powerless in the face of a man who holds the keys to her shelter.

Mr. Helal Mia 's words hang in the air, a toxic fog that clings to every surface. "You're nothing," he repeats, his voice a sneer that cuts deeper than any knife. "If I want, I could kick you out on the street, and you wouldn't be able to do a thing about it." He leans closer, his breath a noxious cloud that makes Niamh's stomach churn. "You owe me everything, girl. Your life, your very existence."

The owner's hand shoots out, his grip on Niamh's cheeks as tight as a vice. His eyes, once a dull brown, now burn with a fiery intensity that makes her want to look away. But she can't. She won't. Instead, she stares back, her own eyes flashing with an emerging power that even she can't fully comprehend. The Infinity Prism's whispers grow louder, urging her to stand up, to fight back. But she's torn between the fear of losing her sanctuary and the need to assert her newfound identity.

Her mind reels with images of the past, moments she's tried so hard to bury. The sting of his belt, the crack of his hand against her skin, the sneers and the insults that were as much a part of her daily routine as breathing. Each memory is a shard of glass, slicing through the veneer of her resolve. She can almost feel the phantom pain of those long-forgotten nights, the warm tears on her cheeks, and the desperate gulp of air as she tried to quiet her sobs so he wouldn't hear.

The smell of burning wood fills her nose, and she's transported back to her town in the Hill Tracts, her heart racing as the flames lick at the stilts of the bamboo homes. She's a child again, clutching her mother's hand, their eyes wide with terror as they watch the world they know crumble around them. Her mother's whispers, a gentle lullaby of protection, are lost in the cacophony of screams and the roar of the fire. The Pae Nai tribe, her people, are scattered like leaves in a storm, their sacred spaces desecrated by those who sought to claim their land.

The memory is a raw wound, a reminder of the rejection that has haunted her since she was ripped from her home. The locals had never accepted them as their own, using their poverty as a convenient excuse to push them aside. Niamh had grown up hearing whispers of contempt, feeling the sting of judgment in every averted gaze. It was as if she bore the weight of her tribe's suffering on her young shoulders, a burden she had never asked for but could never escape.

Her parents' love had been a beacon of hope in the darkness, shelter from the storm of prejudice that raged outside. But it was a love tainted by bitterness, a love that had grown as frayed as the edges of their lives. They had fought often, their voices a tempest that raged through the night, shaking the very foundation of their makeshift home. The battles were never about her, she knew that much. They were about the pain of being outsiders, the anguish of watching their heritage slip away like sand through their fingers.

The fights had started after they had moved to the city, leaving behind the safety of their tribe. Her father, once a proud and stoic leader, had been reduced to a man who could not even protect his own family from the scorn of the world. The whispers of the Infinity Prism grew louder, telling her of his futile attempts to find work, to provide for them in a place that saw him as nothing more than a relic of a forgotten past. Her mother, a healer whose touch could mend bones and soothe spirits, had become a mere shadow of her former self, her eyes haunted by the memories of the atrocities they had fled.