The night was alive.

Reggae bass thumped through the narrow street like a heartbeat, vibrating the puddles that had already begun to form on the cracked pavement. Neon lights shimmered against the slick roads, reflecting in a thousand rainbow streaks. Laughter mixed with the rhythm. The air smelled of rain, sugar, and adventure.

At the center of it all stood Tru Vybz, a van painted in wild colors — turquoise, pink, and yellow — glowing faintly under the city’s pulse. Hand-painted letters curled across the side: “Tru Vybz: Taste the Light.”

Behind the counter, Zara stirred a glowing drink with practiced grace. Her copper curls escaped from her headwrap, glinting under the string lights. Every move she made had rhythm — calm, measured, like she was stirring the music itself.

Beside her, Mila was chaos in motion. She laughed loudly, spinning around as she poured syrup into two cups, her golden hoops swinging. “Two Tropical Rush, yeah?” she said, grinning at the two boys who were clearly more interested in her than the drinks.

“Make it strong, babe!” one called, pretending to fan himself.

Mila winked. “Strong’s all I do.”

She started shaking the drink like it was part of the beat — ice clinking in rhythm with the drums. Zara rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips.

“You know, you spill more juice than you sell when you start dancing like that,” Zara said, pouring her own drink smoothly.

“Please,” Mila said, flipping her braids over her shoulder. “They come for the vibe, not the measurement.”

“Tru Vybz, not Free Vybz,” Zara replied dryly.

The crowd nearby erupted in laughter. Mila grinned at them and leaned toward Zara. “You sound like an accountant.”

“And you sound like a walking commercial,” Zara said, smirking.

They both laughed. The kind of laugh only best friends could share — full of teasing, history, and love.

Then the thunder rolled. Deep, low, like the growl of a warning.

“Rain’s coming,” Zara murmured, glancing up.

“Good,” Mila said, lifting her chin. “Rain makes the lights prettier.”

Zara gave her a look. “You’re not serious. You want to stay open in a storm?”

“Of course,” Mila said, spinning toward the speakers. “You ever seen how the glow hits the puddles? It’s like the sky dancing on the ground.”

Before Zara could argue, the first drops fell — soft at first, then heavy. The crowd scattered under awnings and umbrellas, but a few stayed, cheering as the rain poured.

“Close the hatch!” Zara shouted over the music.

“No way!” Mila yelled back, grinning like a maniac. “We don’t stop for weather!”

She turned the volume higher, the beat pulsing so loud it seemed to fight the storm itself. Zara sighed but couldn’t help laughing. She grabbed her scarf, tying it tighter, and kept pouring drinks.

Soon, people started to return — drenched but smiling. Someone began dancing barefoot in the puddles. Another joined. Then another. The whole street turned into a glowing, rain-soaked dance floor.

Mila hopped onto the van’s counter, barefoot, arms wide. “To Tru Vybz! To freedom, rain, and madness!” she shouted.

Zara, drenched and glowing under the neon lights, raised her cup too. “To nights brighter than lightning!”

The crowd cheered, lightning cracked across the sky, and the rain poured harder.

Zara laughed so hard her chest hurt. In that moment, it felt like nothing could touch them — not the rain, not the world, not time itself. Just music, light, and joy.

Then, through the flashes of lightning, Zara froze.

Across the street, half-hidden in the shadows, stood a man in a dark coat. He wasn’t dancing. He wasn’t moving. Just watching — staring right at her.

When she blinked, he was gone.

Zara frowned, her heart skipping a beat. The laughter and the thunder swallowed her unease, but the image stuck like a ghost behind her eyes.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just the light playing tricks.

But as she turned back to the counter, her hand brushed something strange — a small droplet of glowing liquid that didn’t match any of her drinks.

It shimmered faintly… almost alive.

By morning, the rain had washed the whole street clean.

Puddles sparkled in the sunrise, and the air smelled of wet paint, sugar, and smoke. The party had ended hours ago, but Tru Vybz still hummed faintly — lights flickering weakly as if the van itself were tired.

Zara crouched by the counter, carefully wiping down the sticky floor. Her curls were tied up in a messy bun, and her shirt clung to her from the humidity.

Mila was still half asleep in the passenger seat, one leg hanging out the door, humming softly in her dreams.

“Wake up,” Zara said, tossing her a towel. “We’ve got to clean before it gets too hot.”

Mila groaned. “Let the van clean itself, girl. I danced for my life last night.”

Zara laughed quietly. “Yeah, and you nearly electrocuted yourself doing it.”

“Worth it,” Mila mumbled, stretching with a yawn. “You should’ve seen your face when that lightning hit the streetlight. I thought you’d melt.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Zara said — though she had been. Not of the lightning, but of that strange man she thought she saw through the rain.

She hadn’t told Mila. She wasn’t sure why. It just… didn’t feel like something she should say out loud.

As she leaned over the counter, wiping the edge, her hand brushed against something small and cool.

She froze.

A vial.

It was about the size of her thumb, made of glass so smooth it felt almost unreal. Inside it, liquid glowed faintly — a pale turquoise light that pulsed slowly, like it was breathing.

Zara stared. Her name was scratched onto the metal rim. Zara K.

She blinked, heart quickening.

How—?

Before she could think, a knock hit the side of the van.

Mila shot up, nearly falling off the seat. “We open already?”

Zara peeked through the half-open hatch. A man stood outside. His clothes were soaked, his dark jacket dripping rainwater even though the storm had ended hours ago.

He looked… familiar.

“Morning,” he said. His voice was quiet, polite — but something about it made Zara’s stomach twist.

“Uh, hi,” she said cautiously. “We’re not open yet.”

“I’m not here for a drink.” He glanced toward the counter. “I’m looking for something. I lost it last night.”

Mila leaned over Zara’s shoulder, squinting. “You lost it? What is it — your phone?”

He shook his head slowly. “A vial. Small. Glass. Glows blue.”

Zara’s heart stopped.

Her fingers curled around the vial hidden behind the counter. It seemed to throb softly in her hand, as if it could feel the tension.

“Nope,” Mila said breezily. “Didn’t see anything like that. We just cleaned up bottles and cups. Maybe check the alley.”

The man’s eyes flicked between them — sharp, searching. For a second, his gaze landed directly on Zara.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly. “It’s very important.”

Zara forced a calm smile. “We’ll let you know if we find it.”

He stared at her a moment longer, then nodded. “Please do.”

He turned and walked away, his boots splashing through puddles. Zara waited until he disappeared around the corner before exhaling.

Mila frowned. “Weird guy.”

“Yeah,” Zara said faintly. Her hand trembled slightly around the vial. “Weird.”

Mila flopped back into her seat. “Probably some party junkie. Forget him. You wanna open for breakfast crowd or sleep in?”

Zara didn’t answer. She stared at the vial — its glow seemed brighter now, reflecting in her eyes. When she held it closer, faint symbols shimmered within the glass — circles and lines that rearranged themselves like constellations.

And then, for a split second, she heard it.

A whisper.

Soft. Faint.

It said her name.

Zara.

She gasped and dropped the vial. It rolled across the counter, clinking softly before stopping against her cup.

“What’s that?” Mila asked, half-asleep.

“Nothing,” Zara lied quickly, grabbing it. “Just… nothing.”

But her mind was racing.

Who was that man?

Why was her name on the vial?

And why did it speak to her?

She tucked it into her pocket and stared at the empty street, heart pounding. The rain had stopped but deep inside, Zara could feel something else beginning.

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