The next morning felt wrong in all the right ways.

  The sky looked ordinary, the coffee still burned my tongue—

  yet every sound carried an echo, as if the world were remembering itself again.

  I reached the office before most people.

  Screens blinked awake one by one, humming like small hearts.

  My manager’s voice arrived before he did.

  “Amaya, we need the fix before EOD.”

  He smiled, but it was the kind of smile people draw from memory.

  I nodded, typing through fog.

  Half of me was still buzzing with monastery bells.

  By afternoon, I couldn’t tell if I was tired or just… split.

  Every few minutes, the cursor on my screen froze—

  and when it moved again, my document had changed slightly.

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  The font. The phrasing. Sometimes even the line breaks.

  No one else seemed to notice.

  They laughed. They typed. They lived.

  And somewhere inside, I heard that voice again:

  Breathe. Forget weight. Don’t turn back.

  It was like reality had warped at the edges.

  Why did I want to go back—when every instinct screamed not to?

  My manager dropped a stack of files beside me.

  “Prepare the report for Q3. Sora is off today.”

  The top page was blank except for a single line in grey text:

  You didn’t reach where you were meant to.

  I blinked.

  It was gone.

  By the time I reached home, it was already midnight.

  The air felt heavy with quiet.

  I checked my phone. Another notification.

  Continue the ritual.

  I stared at the pill bottle on the table.

  I should have been afraid.

  Instead, there was only hunger—

  a desperate, nameless want to know.

  The pill was cool against my tongue.

  The world folded in on itself again,

  as if it had been waiting for me to close my eyes.

  I wasn’t sure what awaited me.

  But one thing I knew: the dream wanted me.