Fia woke up, the air filling her lungs like oddly welcome pins and needles. She was standing—she dropped her gaze to confirm—yes, standing, in a bare, sunlit room she didn’t recognize. She should’ve woken up in her living room where she’d dozed off the night before.

It had been a Sunday. She’d had lunch with her two sisters to celebrate her upcoming eighteenth birthday and then spent the evening filling her parents in on the latest gossip on the older one’s in-laws and the younger ones university while they watched the rerun of an award show. Later she watched the third episode of her favourite series and spent the next hour messaging her best friend about it. Then she slept. She was sure she did.

Her eyes swept around the room and she caught a glimpse of a young man standing next to her from the corner of her eye. She didn’t dare look directly at him. Staying absolutely still felt safer. The room’s plain white walls were broken by two embrasures and a wide open two-panel door. It didn’t seem like a place kidnappers would keep her. Outside, the patio had pink weeds sprouting through its wooden floorboards and in the distance she saw snow-covered peaks. She swallowed. Her home wasn’t too far from the mountains, but not these mountains. The sun here was too white, the rock too dark and the plants were just… otherworldly.

I’m dreaming, she thought.    

She heard someone coming. A young woman clutching files walked past the door, and then the footsteps stopped. A second later, the woman leaned back to look inside. A big smile spread across her face as she hurried into the room. 

Her hair was pulled up in a bun above her head with uncaught strands spread over her face in a casual but deliberate manner. She wore a white tunic that came down to her hips and black trousers.

“Oh, you two are up,” she said and extended a hand. “Welcome to the Great Garden! I’m your area host Raija.”

Fia understood every word she said, but she’d never heard the language before. Her confusion and the alienness of her surroundings just increased tenfold, and the only movement she could manage was to drop her gaze to Raija’s hand.

Raija retracted it. “Ahh nevermind, nevermind. Many arrivals don’t like shaking hands. I always forget.”

“It’s really nice to meet you,” she continued like a good office secretary meeting new employees. “It’s not common for people to arrive together, you know. I was quite surprised, to be honest. But then again, when’s there ever a time without surprises here, ah?”

Fia gaped at her. 

“Ah, how would you know?” Raija shook her head. “So, the important thing is not to panic. Luckily, we found you in time and you arrived after the formation of the Altruistic Association of Garden Hosts, also known as AAGH.” The comical sound of the acronym was lost on her completely, but it sent such strong shivers down the young man’s spine that Fia could swear she felt them too. Oblivious, Raija casually pulled a pen out of her hair and went on. “You’re safe here and we’ll make arrival as easy as possible for you.”

She flipped through her files and held one open on her arm. “So, what are your names?” She pointed at the young man with her pen. 

“Mikael Bilal Riaz,” he said quietly and Fia’s head snapped toward him. 

He was about her age, a scarecrow of a man with shaggy black hair who looked as scared and confused as she felt. Their eyes met for a fleeting second before Fia lowered her gaze. It can’t be him, she thought. 

“And where are you from?” Raija said, scribbling on the file.

“Quetta, Pakistan,” Mikael said.

Fia’s head snapped back toward him and he took a step back. Her gaze swept over his features, tugging at the memory of a face she’d only ever seen in pictures.

“And what’s your name?” Raija asked Fia.

“Er…” It took a moment to find the answer within the chaos in her head. “Safia Jahanaara.”

It was a name only ever used by her teachers, and, on occasion, by her father lovingly and her mother angrily.

“I’m from Islamabad, Pakistan.”

She actually lived in Pindi, Islamabad’s less posh twin city, but the place felt too foreign for anything less than the capital city complete with the country name—even if it felt like a sin to call herself an Islamabadian. Raija scribbled strange characters on the file and Fia realized she could read them. Raija had only written their names.

“Are you—”

Fia followed the voice to the man standing beside her.

He hesitated. “Fia?”

She let out a breath. “Cas?”

He nodded frantically.

“Oh God,” she muttered, relieved in spite of herself.

The thing was, Fia’s best friend, one who’d seen her through the best and the worst of the past six years, had only ever existed behind a screen. They met on a gaming forum as preteens and practically grew up together, but had never met in real life—thanks to Fia’s fear of her parents and their fear of catfishing. So, although Mikael, aka Cas, aka Casanova96—the embarrassing first tag he could never shake off—was Fia’s best friend, she hadn’t truly believed it was him until he called her by her nickname. And he hadn’t considered it was her until he’d heard her real one. 

“How are we here?” said Fia. 

“Ah,” said Raija. “None of us really know. It just happens.”

Mikael ignored her and rambled on in… Pashto? 

Fia frowned. “What?”

He started again. “I don’t—” He paused, seemingly startled by his own voice. “I don’t remember anything after I slept.”

“Me, too! I woke up here.”

“What language are we speaking?!”

Fia had no idea, except that it was the same as Raija’s. She looked down at her mustard shalwar qameez that she hadn’t worn since last summer, then at Mikael’s brown shalwar qameez, and grabbed his sleeve. “Were you wearing this last night?”

His gaze dropped to his clothes and a strange fan behind him suddenly whirred to life. 

“Careful.” Fia pulled him forward.

Mikael looked behind him and jumped.

Fia screamed.

He screamed louder.

The fan was attached to him.

Fia shot toward the door, Mikael right behind her.

“Those are just…” Raija trailed off as Fia ran outside.

Mikael was blocked by the whirring blades on his back. “It’s not coming off!” 

Fia skidded to a stop on the pink weeds and doubled back.

“They’re your wings,” said Raija. “They won’t hurt you.” 

Mikael’s wings lifted him into the air. His head slammed against the top of the door panel and he fell back down in a mess of long arms and legs that looked eerily appropriate for the wings.  

Fia grabbed his shoulder and leaned over him.

“Oh!” said Raija. “They don’t come off.”

The wings pulled him to his feet. 

“Sit back down!” Fia said. 

She lifted his arm to reach them from around his waist. The purple wings slowed, then stilled and Mikael fell to his knees. The place went quiet. Fia followed Mikael’s wide-eyed gaze and her mouth fell open. Two men walked towards them, swords at their hips.

Are they wearing sherwanis? Is that natural hair? This must be a dream. Did I watch a fashion show yesterday? Is that a crown?

One of them was blonder than any blonde man she’d ever seen. He was dressed entirely in black and had a belt laden with silver knives strapped to his chest. The other one in the lead looked like a prince, a bronze circlet appearing around his temples tapered into two pointed ends that stopped an inch apart at the center of his forehead. The headpiece matched the bronze threads of his outer jacket. His steps faltered under their pressing stares and he ran a hand through his long brown hair. Fia’s mouth gaped wider. 

“Ah, you’re here!” Raija climbed over Mikael’s wings. “This is Pekka and Dara. They offered to help with—”she gave Mikael a small smile“—your Gift.” 

“They have swords,” said Mikael.

“He’s wearing a crown,” said Fia. 

“Yes, but they’re friendly,” said Raija. “I promise.”

“And you must be the new arrivals,” said the prince. He had kind eyes that had regained their composure.

“They’re from Pakistan,” said Raija. “Do you know of it?”

A flicker went through his eyes and Fia and Mikael perked up expectantly. His light skin and dark feature made him passable for a Pakistani from the western regions, even if something about him felt glaringly foreign. To their disappointment, he shook his head.

“May I know your names?” he said.

“Fia!” said Fia, too late and louder than needed. 

“Mikael. I’m Mikael.” Her reply broke his trance as well.

“Nice to meet you, both,” said the prince. “It’s rare to have two arrivals together. You’re fortunate—well, as fortunate as you can be arriving in the Garden.” 

Just open-mouthed stares, the kind that would’ve earned Fia and Mikael lectures on proper etiquette from their mothers.

But this man needed no help in maintaining the conversation. He radiated refinement. “Mikael, you’ve got the royal wings,” he went on. “This is a known phenomenon here. Many people have such Gifts when they arrive.”

The mention of the wings made Mikael look behind him. His breathing grew erratic and the wings started to flutter.

The man with the circlet caught his wrist. “Look at me, Mikael.”

Mikael snapped his head forward.

“It’s okay. They will not harm you.” His voice was as smooth as a brook on a plain. “They’re useful and a part of you. You will learn to control them. Do you understand?”

Mikael nodded, almost as if afraid the man would leave if he didn’t.

“Some arrivals have migratory Gifts. It’s uncommon but not rare. Yours are dragonfly-type wings. Are you with me?”

Mikael’s brow furrowed deeper.

“Don’t worry,” the prince said. “Pekka is familiar with this type—he’ll show you how to fold them. Stand up, now. Keep your eyes on me.”

Mikael did as he was told. Pekka, who had a face as impassive as a model on a ramp, didn’t look like he wanted to do anything. But, after a moment, he quietly stepped behind Mikael, ran his hands along the delicate wings and folded them down like a hand of cards. They now looked like a cape that came down just an inch above the ground. 

“You’re doing great, Mikael,” the man with the circlet said. “Now, Pekka will tie them so they don’t accidentally open. It’s important to do this until you learn to control them better. It will not hurt, and it will help you walk around more easily. Is that okay?”

Mikael, eased by the now folded wings, nodded again, and Pekka tied the wings together using a belt he got from who knows where. 

Raija breathed a sigh of relief. “Ah, great! We can get back to business, now.” 

In the next few hours, Raija continued giving Fia and Mikael what felt exceedingly like a university orientation. The two men excused themselves, hoping to meet up later. The orientation included a bit of history, notable people who’d arrived in Grey Peak, the formation of AAGH and so on. Most of it went unheard except that they could stay here for two months to acclimate but had to leave after that.

They got a room to share and food to eat.

© 2021–2026 Sabri Jadugar. All Rights Reserved.

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