A kind word and a friendly face

Lina woke, and her first breath took in the warm, dry air of a new dawn. The rich, warm smells of the village and the buzzing sound of families at work surrounded her like a comforting blanket- the scent of sweet yeast, sharp smoke, and heady spice - everything was present, but something was off. It was as if the scent was there, but the minute she let her mind wander it just..wasn't.   Shaking her head, she gathered a water pot and went to the well. She lowered the leather bucket, listening for the hollow sound to plummet and roar back trough the shaft. When it struck the surface below, the sound was a single, dry thud, gone as soon as it appeared, without a single echo. Well must be running low , she told herself.   Shaking her head, she headed to the market, to find Yusuf, the baker for some fresh flatbread.   “Good morning, Yusuf,” Lina said.   Yusuf paused, his expression kind . “Ah, Lina. Good morning. You see the wheat?” He gestured to one of the heavy burlap sacks. “The grain is heavy and golden this season. Truly.”   He smiled gently, then sighed. And when he spoke again, his voice simply began anew, uttering the exact same words, the same way, down to the slight hiss on the word "truly". Lina stared at him, then shook her head - Yusuf had gotten more forgetful these last few years. She forced herself to smile back, then waved and hurried through the sand-worn street towards the town square.   As she passed the large public basin where clothing was washed, she knelt down. The water was unnaturally still, flat as dark glass. She stared down at her reflection. Driven by a nervous impulse, she blinked rapidly, but her reflection lingered, a breath passed before it blinked too, suddenly staring back at her motionless, utterly devoid of thought with a horrifying, unburdened stillness. And then it tilted its head.   A shudder ran down her back, a strangled scream escaping her lips. Stumbling, she turned to flee, but her limbs felt heavy, leaden. Her feet moved, not toward the open desert, but toward her own home. The motion was not by choice; it was smooth, flowing , like drifting on a current pulling her limbs, guiding her along a track already carved. Her mind screamed and strained, but her muscles obeyed a placid, smooth current that was not her own as irresistible as the great river itself. Then everything went dark before her eyes.   The next morning, Lina's eyes opened as her body rose with a seamless, predetermined grace from her bed.   Her feet found the floor. They walked the usual path to the door, the movement effortless and silent. Warm, brown eyes betrayed no sign of the screaming voice trapped inside her mind, desperate to escape, locked into a body no longer her own.   Lina stepped into the sunshine and walked toward the market. Her mouth opened, and her voice - her beautiful, clear voice, stripped of all hesitation - said, “Good morning, Yusuf.”   Yusuf paused, his expression perfectly kind.   “Ah, Lina. Good morning. You see the wheat?” He gestured to one of the heavy burlap sacks. “The grain is heavy and golden this season. Truly.”