Dear Diary,
Yesterday I was taken aback when a former schoolmate appeared at my front door. Emily, is that you? I asked, eyes wide. We hadnt seen each other in roughly a year, yet she had called out of the blue and asked me to come over. Emily never boasted a slender figure; she was always a bit round and never let that bother hershe married the love of her life early, had a son, and never knew want. But standing before me now was a gaunt, exhausted young woman with dark circles under her eyes.
How many kilos have you shed? I blurted.
Twenty already, and the scale keeps slipping. Think Im happy about it? Thats why I called you, she muttered, leading me into the kitchen. If you cant figure out why this is happening, you should have called Dr. Victoria insteadshes the one who studied medicine.
Emily poured tea into two mugs, her gaze tinged with sorrow. All the tests came back normal; nothing was found. She paused, then asked, Remember the story you told me about your fellow student, Clara, and what happened to her? The doctors found nothing there either?
Yes, I replied, recalling the episode. But you never really believed it then.
Back then I didnt believe anything beyond the material world. Now Im not so sure what to trust.
Tell me then, I urged, eager to hear what had truly befallen Emily.
It all started six months ago, she began, I was chopping cucumber for a salad, just as I am now, when time seemed to freeze. I kept slicing, and the cucumber never ran out. You know Im not one for the mystical, but something strange was happening.
I, ever the lover of odd tales, settled back, ready for the next twist.
I was still in that daze when the doorbell rang, jolting me out. I peered through the peepholeno one. I thought perhaps the lads upstairs were playing tricks. I opened the door to find a parcel on the doorstep. I nudged it aside, but an urge made me peek inside. It contained an old icon, an unmistakably antique piece.
Seeing my puzzled look, Emily reassured me, Ancient, ancientIm sure of it. My uncle Peter runs an antique shop; he confirmed its age and even offered a tidy sum for it.
I was surprised; Emily never attended church or engaged in prayer. What drew you to it?
She smiled faintly, My grandmother used to speak of a miracle icon that appeared by a holy spring, three times taken to a chapel only to return to the spring on its own. When I saw this one, I felt chosen, so I kept it.
Remarkable, I said, genuinely intrigued. Ive never heard of an icon finding its own owner these days.
Emilys eyes dimmed as she recounted the next weeks. First, my catyoung, healthy, fully vaccinatedran off one evening chasing a toy mouse, and by morning hed vanished. We buried him in the pet cemetery. Grief still clung to me when my mother called from the physio centre, saying shed slipped on a flat surface and broken her leg. I rang my husband, asking him to fetch his mum and bring her home, only to learn hed been laid off that very day, his oncewellpaid job replaced by a meagre wage.
I pressed, Do you think the icon brought misfortune?
She sighed, Everyone warned me, but I refused to give it up, thinking they were jealous of my treasure.
Not a coincidence, perhaps, I mused, since someone slipped that parcel under your dooran underlay, if you will.
Can an icon be an underlay? she wondered aloud, It bears the image of the Heavenly Queen herself.
Well have to find out, I said, but first, what happened next?
Emilys voice trembled. My son fell ill and spent a month in the hospital. Meanwhile, I kept losing weight, driven by stress and endless trips between the store, the kitchen, and the hospital. My husband found a new job, but it pays half what he earned before. When Vas, our boy, finally left the ward, we were grateful, yet the pounds kept dropping. It terrified mewhat would I look like in six months? I recalled Claras case; the doctors were equally baffled.
I nodded, Tell me her story.
She began, Before graduating, my friend Tina and her cousin Ninaboth had boyfriends at the timeplanned a picnic by the river. We took a shortcut through the woods and got lost. Nina sprinted ahead, found a silk scarf hanging on a branch, tied it round her neck, and instantly the path reappeared, leading us to the river.
She laughed, Its not just any scarf, I interjected.
Tina feared it might belong to someone unknown, Emily continued, but Nina insisted it was simply a lost piece, beautiful enough to keep.
We spent a pleasant day fishing, swimming, cooking broth, and singing by the fire. The next morning, as we prepared to leave, Nina felt weakher head throbbed. Kostya, her boyfriend, carried her the last stretch home. Her health waned; she failed her exams, was expelled, and doctors found nothing. I went to Ninas mother and begged for that very scarf. She gave it to me, and I took it to Mrs. Whitaker in Harrowford, a reputed healer who treats the incurable when conventional doctors give up.
Mrs. Whitaker examined the scarf, the photograph of Nina, and said, Its a underlay. The illness isnt physical but energybased. Youre lucky it arrived in time; otherwise thered be no cure.
She instructed me to bury a bit of the scarfs ash beneath a tree outside the village fence and brewed a herbal decoction. Nina drank it, cheered up, and soon left the hospital.
Perhaps we should bring the icon to Mrs. Whitaker? Emily suggested, a spark of hope in her eyes.
We did, only to find Mrs. Whitaker had already passed away. We arrived at her funeral and met her daughter, Sister Maria, a nun who had cradled the icon in holy water and offered prayers. She advised us to take it to the local parish church for blessing.
Emily followed that counsel. The misfortunes ceased. She regained her health, her figure softened, and, a few months later, gave birth to a daughter she named Grace.
Looking back, I realise that sometimes the strange and the ordinary intertwine in ways we cannot explain. Yet faithwhether in a relic, a remedy, or the kindness of strangerscan shift the course of our lives. Ive learned that dismissing the inexplicable may close us off from help that comes from unexpected places.
Lesson learned: keep an open mind, for even a forgotten scarf or an old icon can become a beacon when darkness gathers.
