The Vial

Morning came soft and golden, sliding through the van’s tinted windows in thin streaks of light.

Zara woke to the sound of seagulls and the low hum of the city. Somewhere nearby, a vendor shouted about fresh coconuts, and the smell of fried plantain drifted through the air.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. Mila was already outside, leaning against the van, hair up in a messy bun, scrolling through her phone with one hand and sipping from a cup with the other.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Mila called. “You were out cold.”

Zara stretched. “Didn’t sleep much,” she said quietly.

“Still thinking about the party?” Mila teased. “You went all philosopher-mode after midnight.”

Zara smiled faintly, though her mind was elsewhere. The vial lay hidden in her jacket pocket — she’d tucked it there before falling asleep, unable to throw it away, unable to stop thinking about it.

She could still remember the faint whisper. Zara.

Maybe she’d imagined it. Maybe she was just tired.

The day began like any other.

They set up Tru Vybz near the market square, where sunlight bounced off the bright-painted walls and the music never really stopped. Locals came and went — kids laughing, old men arguing about football, and women carrying baskets of fruit on their heads.

Zara worked quietly, slicing pineapples and pouring syrup. Mila talked non-stop, flirting, laughing, drawing people in like a magnet.

“Yo, we should add a new drink,” Mila said, waving her spoon dramatically. “Something fresh — like a mix between the Sunburst and Lime Fire. We can call it… Midnight Glow.”

Zara chuckled. “You name everything like it’s a superhero.”

“Exactly!” Mila said proudly. “Our drinks are superpowers. Look at people’s faces when they take the first sip.”

Zara glanced at the crowd. Mila wasn’t wrong. There was something about their drinks — the way they shimmered, caught the light just right, made people smile.

Still, Zara couldn’t shake what she’d seen the night before — that glowing droplet, the man in the rain, the vial with her name.

She kept it hidden under the counter all day, wrapped in a napkin. Every so often, she’d catch herself staring at it, feeling the faint pulse through the fabric.

When the rush died down around midday, Mila ran off to grab lunch. Zara stayed behind, cleaning the counter. The market was quieter now — the music softer, the sun heavier.

She reached into her pocket and pulled the vial out.

The glow had dimmed, but it was still there — steady, like a heartbeat. She held it up to the light. Inside, something shimmered — not just liquid, but shapes. Tiny flickers that looked like stars drifting in water.

Her breath caught.

For a moment, the world around her seemed to fade. She wasn’t in the market anymore. She saw… flashes. A lab. Metal walls. The sound of a woman’s voice — gentle but firm.

Then it was gone.

“Zara!” Mila’s voice snapped her back.

She quickly hid the vial behind her back.

“You okay?” Mila asked, carrying a paper bag full of jerk chicken. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” Zara said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just dizzy from the heat.”

Mila squinted at her. “You sure? You’ve been weird since last night.”

Zara hesitated, then shrugged. “Just tired.”

Mila shrugged too and sat down on the curb. “You need food. Eat before you faint on me.”

Zara joined her, picking at her food absentmindedly. The world felt normal again — the chatter of the market, the smell of spices, the sunlight on her arms.

But in her pocket, the vial pulsed once.

Soft.

Alive.

Almost like it was breathing with her.

Later that afternoon, a light breeze carried the sound of music from down the street — someone testing speakers for the night’s show. Zara smiled faintly, closing her eyes.

Maybe she was just imagining things but deep down Zara knew something had changed

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