Chapter 9: Starlight's Burden

Nyara pov

Getting ready for my family dinner always feels like preparing for a performance. I come from thec, a prominent name in the magic urban city. We're an elite, rich lineage where everyone seems to possess extraordinary abilities, except me.

I've always felt like an outsider, different from my family and everyone else. My strange birthmark, which stretches from my back all the way down my arms, sets me apart. It's a constellation etched onto my skin, a celestial map that I feel compelled to hide. It feels like a brand, marking me as 'other'. Out in public, I automatically reach for long sleeves, even in the sweltering summer heat, self-conscious of the whispers and stares.

Growing up, the my family were incredibly supportive, almost to a fault. They were protective, perhaps even sheltered, but their love was undeniable. "Yara, we're sorry, but you need to come back home. We want you here, safe and in our care," my dad would say, his voice laced with genuine concern. "Ya, Yara sweetheart, there is no need for you to stay somewhere else out we are worried about you," my mom would add, her eyes filled with a tenderness that always made me feel guilty for wanting my space.

At our annual Alistair family dinner night, the conversation inevitably circles back to my living situation. "Guys, it's fine. I have been living on my own for almost five years now," I try to reassure them, forcing a smile.

My older brother, Amir, always chimes in with a worried frown, his brow furrowed with concern. "But Yara, what if something happens? We wouldn't want you to be alone." He's always been the overprotective type, convinced that I can't handle myself.

My older sister, Zaila, nods in agreement, her eyes searching mine for any sign of distress. "Yes, Yara. We're worried about your night terrors. The times where you scream in your sleep and then wake up like nothing happened."

I sigh, trying to remain patient. "I'm fine, really. The night terrors are just… dreams. I don't even remember them." Although that was a lie. Deep down, fragmented images flicker through my mind - pain, crying, fire... and the worst part is the heart-wrenching sense of not being able to feel the presence of the people I was crying out to.

"Yara," Zaila says softly, gently grasping my hand. "Little sis, we only want you safe. That is all."

After dinner, I make my excuses and head back to my private penthouse apartment, relieved to have some space to breathe. I unlock the door and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. I appreciate the visits and the concern, but I long for the day they can accept that I'm capable of taking care of myself. That I can be seen as the person that I see myself as.

I draw a long, hot shower, letting the water wash away the forced smiles and the weight of their worries. Afterward, I stand in front of the mirror, my dark skin glistening in the soft light. I take my time carefully braiding my hair, finding a quiet rhythm in the task. Finally, I remove my shirt, turning to examine my unique birthmark. The star-like patterns shimmer against my skin, a strange and beautiful anomaly that feels both alien and intimately familiar.

I think back to my childhood, to how much I hated these birthmarks. Kids at school used to think I had some kind of contagious disease, and they made fun of me relentlessly. I remember crying, begging my parents to let me wear clothes that covered it up, to make me look 'normal'. That's when they transferred me to another school, a place where I desperately hoped I would finally be accepted.

Shaking my head, I try to banish those painful memories. My family always told me it was beautiful, that it made me unique. They said it connected me to something bigger, something magical. But it's hard to believe them when I feel so disconnected, so different, so utterly alone.

A nagging sense of incompleteness haunts me, a void deep within my heart. It's a longing for something I can't quite grasp, a sense that I don't quite belong, even amidst the love and comfort of my family. It's as if I'm missing a crucial piece of myself, a vital part of my life that remains perpetually just out of reach. And when I try to grasp it, to remember, it only results in a throbbing headache.