Vox Inaudica

Part 1: The Calm Before the Storm

On particularly sunny days like this one, the city tends to get tremendously crowded. The waterfronts, parks, and terraces, mostly, but not so much the grocery stores. As someone who prefers her own company over the crowds, that’s where Mar is headed this morning. It is almost inconceivable how she has spent her entire life in this city and yet has no one she calls a friend. Acquaintances, for sure, but no one Mar would rather spend her Sundays with. This Sunday, the day starts a little early as she wakes up an hour and seven minutes before her alarm goes off. The good thing about this time of the year, though, is that the long hours of daylight make getting up early quite productive. Hence, Mar has already knocked out most of her long overdue chores by the time she’s ready to head out. She isn’t the kind to put a lot of effort into her appearance, but the simplicity of her sense of style somehow stands out. She pulls on a baggy pair of blue jeans and a grey shirt and stands in front of her bathroom mirror, sliding her headphones on while the TV murmurs in the back. For a moment, she catches her own eyes in the reflection—distant, like someone else is staring back at her. Somehow, despite her playlist on full volume, it feels quieter than usual at this moment, almost as if something is holding the city in a breathless pause. She glances at her watch just as the sharp scream of a firetruck slices through the stillness. In the heart of this chaotic city, isn’t it quite an ordinary occurrence? Yet, as she picks up her tote bag to take off, she senses a prickle at the back of her neck, like something is trying to warn her.

This grocery store has been gaining a lot of popularity lately for stocking items from all over the world. From the outside, there is nothing particularly remarkable about it, just a plain, dull-white two-story building with modern architecture. To enter, you climb a set of stairs that lead directly into the store. Two straight staircases on each side extend from a single platform right in front of the door. Inside, the store is much larger than the ones Mar usually visits, at least five times the size. She isn’t holding back today as she grabs the largest of the carts and moves through the aisles, picking up all the things that catch her eye. Vibrant, crisp produce, fresh flowers, ripe fruits, blood-soaked meat, aged cheese, canned items trying to bottle the freshness; she notices everything as she makes her way through every corner. She watches the butcher carefully slice the fresh cuts of meat, his white apron stained with smears of red, as sweat drips down his forehead, which he then wipes with the sleeves of his uniform. Isn’t it fascinating how grocery stores possess a strange blend of freshness and decay?

Moments later, Mar’s cart is full, packed with everything she needs and everything she doesn’t. Potato chips, a dark chocolate bark, the Laughing Cow cheese wedges that were all the rage when she was a kid, fresh baguettes, macarons, the list goes on. She can’t remember the last time she shopped like this, but it feels like a well-earned indulgence. A couple of years ago, no one would’ve expected to find her here, able to afford what once felt like luxury, free of the spell the wicked world had cast over her. Alone and, for once, happy.

The bill comes to a total of three hundred and seventy four dollars and ninety eight cents. Wow, she really did treat herself! She stands close to the cashier as she browses through her phone to call a ride home, her fingers stroking the edge of the purchase receipt. Suddenly, she senses a shadow brushing past her. It moves along the edge of her vision, not quite touching her, not quite real. But it leaves something behind in its wake—a silence that feels too deliberate, like it has swallowed the air around her. When she turns to grab her cart, her heart skips a beat. There is no cart. She blinks, scanning the aisles around her in unnerving desperation, certain she had just seen it a moment ago. She feels a rising panic bubble beneath her skin, but she immediately pulls back. She has just lost track of it, right? It is not about the money she spent, or how important the things were that she had just bought. It is the sheer absurdity of it—the cart vanishing while she is standing right there. Suddenly, the place feels off—distant, foreign; the unfamiliarity creeps into an eerie silence. Something is not right. One thing Mar has mastered over twenty-four years of life is to keep her calm in situations where, in reality, she is frightened. Failing to find the cart, she keeps her composure and, with a quiet resolve, asks a store employee for help. That is when the biggest shock comes along. The employee looks at her with an empty gaze, as though she were invisible this whole time. He proceeds to utterly deny that she had ever been to the counter with a cart. This is the point she really starts to get frantic, her hands visibly shaking. Doing her best to hide it, she reaches out to the cashier who checked her out—and to make it worse, she receives the same dismissal. Mar’s voice wavers as she tries again, insisting she had just paid three hundred seventy-four dollars and ninety-eight cents for a cart full of items. But no one remembers, not even the cashier, the girl who she clearly remembers smiled at her and asked, “How are you doing today?”, and helped her put the items back in the cart. Feeling the heaviness under her breath, Mar pinches herself, hoping the sharp sting would wake her if this is a nightmare. How could they not remember? she wonders. If this is a nightmare, now would be a good time to wake up!

THE RECEIPT! Vividly recalling holding onto the receipt, she immediately checks her pockets, where she might have subconsciously placed it. Her fingers brush against a piece of paper in her back pocket, and with a sudden burst of triumph, she gasps, “I have the receipt for my purchase. Here it is!” Before handing it over, she glances at the receipt, and to her horror, what should have been a printed record of her haul is entirely blank. Suddenly, she can’t remember—had she even looked at the receipt before? Or had she merely grabbed it, never truly seeing what was in her hand?

A 12-year-old Mar was ready to head to school, dreading her least favorite part of the day. Although, truth be told, it was hardly the only part that felt dull and lifeless. She was nine years old when her grandmother forced her to transfer to a new, “better” school with a scholarship. Even after three years here, the place never quite felt familiar. Whether or not the school was better was not for Mar to judge, but one thing was certain—with a higher price tag on everything came a different breed of people who could pull it off, even children. With her hair in a high ponytail that made her forehead look somewhat gigantic, a uniform that hung loosely on her frame, and a pair of worn-out, grimy white shoes, she left with her grandmother, who used to drop her off at school every morning. As they were halfway there, Mar realized that she had forgotten her lunchbox. It was leftovers from a sweet chicken curry her grandmother used to cook, but only on special occasions. It was especially disappointing given that the “special occasion” this time around was that her grandmother had scored an amazing deal on chicken, allowing her to actually buy some—a rare occasion in their household. Lunch money was a luxury her family never had, so she chose to stay silent, not wanting to worry her grandmother. People who haven’t lived through moments when the simple act of eating lunch becomes a discomfort, especially when the food on the table feels out of place, are fortunate. Mar was never ashamed of her roots, her family, or their financial condition. She believed in finding happiness in life’s simple pleasures, with money never being part of that equation. Nevertheless, she couldn’t escape the feeling of embarrassment over the lunch she brought every day. Neither her lunchbox nor its contents were anything special- just plain and ordinary, much like herself. Some days, she skipped lunch just to avoid the loud chatter and laughter, the voices echoing with disgust as they called her food vile, “peasant food,” and her a gutter rat. Mar hated to admit to herself that she wasn’t looking forward to lunch to eat it, but to escape their ridicule, to feel better about herself around them. But for better or worse, that wasn’t going to be the case anymore. With no food to eat at lunch, Mar chose to wander the campus instead. She knew all the quiet, tucked-away corners where she could be alone. The silence in these hideaways made the harshness of reality feel just a little farther away. Nevertheless, she returned to an offbeat sea of judgmental stares and hushed whispers by the end of lunch break, snapping her back to reality in an instant and leaving her bracing for whatever had gone wrong. As she walked back to class, “Thief!” yelled one of the boys in the back. Overwhelmed by shock and confusion, she barely had time to process the accusation before being dragged to the front of the classroom. All eyes followed her as the teacher led her forward, each step heavy with confusion and dread. Then, in front of everyone, the accusation was laid bare. Ayla had found the professor’s wallet in Mar’s backpack. Gasps, snickers, and whispers filled the room like the devil himself had shown up. Mar’s mouth opened to protest, only to feel the sting of humiliation tighten in her throat. “I didn’t do it!” she finally managed to say, her voice trembling as tears began streaming down her face. They laughed, pointed, and whispered louder. She felt the room spin as she cried so hard she could barely breathe, as if the weight of their ridicule were crushing the air out of her lungs. “Just look at her, stealing and lying so defiantly at this age is unbelievable. Her parents would have been so ashamed of her,” said the professor to the class. Embarrassment, disbelief, helplessness—all wrapping around her like a vice. And in the middle of it all, the worst part was the silence. No one stood up for her. No one asked if it was true. No one listened. After all, everyone knew she was the only one who didn’t belong.

Although Mar knows she is not claiming anything that isn’t hers and she has indeed paid for everything in that cart, being humiliated around people is the last thing she wants. So she lets go. But the confusion lingers, clawing at the edges of her mind. She can’t make sense of it. It couldn’t all have been imagined. Before things get any crazier, she walks out of the store with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, the cloud of chaos and confusion still raining over her. She stands at the platform and looks left, down one staircase. Then right, down the other. Neither direction offers answers, just a handful of people coming and going, unaware that something inside her is snapping just a little. Her mouth is running dry. Her mind, louder than the city noise around her, is running in endless loops. “Should I go back in?” “Ask again? Demand something?” “But what? Proof? An apology?” “Would they just laugh again?” “Am I… losing my mind?” Her heart is still racing, but everything around her feels like it is slowing down.

“Marha?”

A familiar voice suddenly pulls her out of her thoughts. She turns to find her uncle she hasn’t spoken to in years.

“Didn’t think I’d find you here!” he says as he climbs the stairs to the store.

Mar blinks. Once. Twice. Strange. It really is him, in his signature green tie he hasn’t gotten rid of in over 15 years.

He doesn’t wave. Doesn’t smile. Just tilts his head slightly, looking at her like he knows something she doesn’t. To put things into context, he is not the kind of man who would ever need to show up at a grocery store. He is married to Mar’s paternal aunt, and he is a retired pilot who built his empire on the foundation of generational wealth, meaning he has the kind of money to hire other people to do everything for him. In fact, his vast circle of connections is what got Mar a scholarship to the school she went to, which her grandmother couldn’t otherwise afford. He is the kind of person you could barely imagine outside the comfort of his Victorian-inspired grand mansion or one of his fancy cars. Mar has always despised him, but they only ever lost contact after her grandmother passed.

Still reeling from the morning, Mar could barely string the words together. “Neither did I,” she mutters with a hollow, distant tone.

“We all expected more from you,” says Uncle Jaim. He touches his index fingers together. “The distance… it is getting bigger,” he says, slowly pulling them apart like stretching a piece of thread. “Is this the end for us?”

Her eyes follow the slow movement of his fingers. Something about the way he said it, the calmness, the strange gesture, and his reappearance after so many years made her stomach twist. She forces a nervous laugh, slowly stepping back, planning her escape from whatever reality this has been all this time. For the first time in a long while, Mar has no idea where to go. Panic and confusion take the wheel, leaving her aimlessly walking down the street with no destination in mind. That is when she collides with yet another familiar face. After eight years, Ayla. While they were not quite friends back in school, Ayla somehow appears delighted to meet Mar. The emotions Mar feels towards Ayla in this moment can be most accurately described as… nothing.

“Mar, you freak! Is that you?”

Ayla had been one of the prettiest and most put-together girls in their class, as everyone liked to say. She wasn’t known for having strong opinions; if anything, she had a talent for nodding along with whatever the most popular kids declared. Her actions were never bold enough to be outright offensive, but somehow always just passive enough to feel… questionable. You couldn’t really hate her for things, yet you couldn’t quite trust her either.

Given everything that had happened that morning, Mar is quite surprised that Ayla’s presence doesn’t startle her. In fact, she almost feels a sense of relief to have found someone’s company for a change. Before she can say anything, Ayla embraces her. “It is so nice to see you after so long. How are you holding up?”

You would not imagine Mar opening up and speaking her mind to Ayla, of all people. But she needed it. Mar needed the reassurance, to be heard.

A sudden thunderstorm takes over right as Mar speaks about what she has been experiencing all morning. Appearing concerned, Ayla offers to give her a ride, insisting it would be better if she came with her and the others for a while. “Do you remember Kai and Salel? They are here too. We haven’t caught up in so long. It will be a good time.” As soon as the words leave Ayla’s mouth, Mar’s pupils widen, catching the light. Thunder grows violent as the sky gets darker and darker.

Those names are more than just familiar. There is something buried, something sharp—terrors that have shrouded Mar’s mind for years and, unknown to her own consciousness, still do. The past she survived was buried for a reason, but what is to come is much, much worse—a fate anticipated by no one.