The faint static hum of a television fills the small living room. The blue glow flickers against the walls as a calm but serious news anchor speaks.
"It's been a year and few months since the massive solar flare—now known as the November Burst—struck Earth on November 5, 2019. Scientists say the planet continues to recover, with power grids now fully restored after two months of global blackout. However, NASA confirms that traces of strange, persistent particles are still orbiting near Earth's magnetic field—causing faint, unpredictable interference in satellite signals."
Cut to footage of aerial views of crowded hospitals, people lying unconscious, doctors rushing through halls.
"Reports also note an increase in neurological cases following the Burst. Many patients remain comatose, while others show sudden memory loss or unexplained shifts in behavior. Experts call it a 'post-radiation effect,' but no one truly understands what's happening."
The anchor's tone softens.
"Still, the world is healing. Slowly. Humanity is adapting to a quieter sky."
TV fades into a soft static buzz.
Kean sits on the couch, his guitar resting across his knees. The sound of the news fades into the background as he runs his thumb along the strings.
"Two months of no signal… no lights… just boredom," he murmurs with a faint smile. "But maybe that's what made me love the silence."
He remembers those nights—drawing, reading by candlelight, watching the stars appear brighter than ever before. He learned to fill the silence with something meaningful.
"Guess I wasn't really bored," he says, looking at his guitar. "I just didn't know peace until then."
The news report fades into silence as Aunt Raquela lowers the TV's volume. She exhales softly, her brows furrowed.
"It's been a year," she says, shaking her head. "And still, they haven't figured out what really happened up there."
Kean's dad leans against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed. "Solar flares come and go, but this one's… different. Never seen anything that shut the whole planet down for two months."
Raquela nods slowly. "I still get dizzy sometimes since that night. Feels like my head's floating. The doctor says it's stress, but… I don't know. It's strange."
"That's why I don't mess with phones or gadgets," his dad says with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe that's why I still feel fine."
"Or maybe you've just always been stubborn," Raquela replies with a small smile.
Kean sits quietly, listening to them. His dad's voice lowers.
"You heard what the news said, right? Some of those people haven't woken up since November. Hospitals full, families waiting every day… and now this thing with the particles."
"It's heartbreaking," Raquela murmurs. "And with classes only just restarting online last January, kids barely even know how to catch up. Everything's unstable—signal, schedules, even people."
Kean plucks a soft note on his guitar, eyes on the faint static of the screen. "Feels like the world forgot how to breathe," he says quietly.
Raquela glances at him. "You okay, Kean?"
He nods faintly. "Yeah. Just thinking how weird it all feels. Like something out there changed… and it's still watching us."
His aunt and father exchange a look, unsure whether to laugh or agree. Outside, the wind hums against the half-open window—carrying a faint crackle, like static from another world.
Later that day, Kean sat by the window, the glow of his phone lighting his face. A message popped up.
"Brooo, when are you coming back home to the hood?"
Kean smiled a little and began typing.
Kean: "Maybe this summer, I guess. Kinda miss you guys."
The typing dots blinked for a moment.
Shan: "Good. It's not the same here without you. Oh and, my grandma's not doing well again."
Kean: "Oh, is she okay? What happened?"
Shan: "Same thing. Her head hurts so bad she couldn't even talk today. We'll take her to the hospital later."
Kean: "Man… it's been months since that flare thing. You think it's connected?"
Shan: "Who knows. The doctors keep saying the same thing — 'no cause found, just stress or age.' Then they give us a dozen meds and send us home."
Kean leaned back on his chair, staring at the faint light flickering from a nearby lamppost.
Kean: "You think she'll get better?"
Shan: "I hope so, bro. It's just weird. Sometimes she'd stare at the wall all the time."
Kean's hand froze above his keyboard.
Kean: "Maybe it's just a sign of Alzheimer's?"
Shan: "Yeah. But sometimes she says she's still dreaming… she keeps saying, 'wake me up,' like she's trapped somewhere. I don't know."
The chat went silent for a few seconds. Kean looked outside the window again — the sky shimmered faintly, like it was pulsing.
"What's happening to people?"
Kean sat by the window, sunlight flickering through the curtains, faintly humming a tune while his aunt washed the dishes. The television was still murmuring about the lingering effects of the "solar storm," but he wasn't really listening—until Aunt Raquela suddenly spoke.
"You know… your grandpa Larry was one of them," she said quietly, her voice carrying a hint of memory.
Kean turned. "One of who?"
"Those people who got hit hard by that burst."
She wiped her hands on a towel and leaned against the counter. "He was fine at first. Just a little dizzy. Then he started saying things that didn't make sense. Talking about... seeing himself somewhere else."
Kean frowned. "You mean like dreaming?"
"That's what we thought. But he wasn't sleeping." Raquela's voice trembled a bit. "He'd wake up and say, 'I was there again. Everything's the same, but I'm not me.' We thought he was losing it."
Kean stayed silent, listening.
"Then the headaches got worse. Nothing worked. Hospitals were full of patients like him. But one day, the government called—they were testing something at a research facility in Manila. An upgraded MRI, they said. Something that might fix whatever was happening to their brains."
Kean's eyes widened. "You let him go through that?"
"We had no choice."
She took a deep breath. "They said it realigns the brain's magnetic field. Grandpa stayed inside that scanner for almost two hours. I waited the whole time praying he'd still recognize me."
Kean leaned forward. "And?"
"When he came out," she said softly, "he looked at me and said, 'I'm back.' Just like that. He remembered everything. No more headaches. The doctor said his brainwaves 'locked back into phase,' whatever that means."
Kean stared down at his hands, a strange chill running through his spine.
"They told us not to talk about it," Aunt Raquela added, lowering her voice. "Said it was just an experimental success, still classified. But you know what I think, Kean? I think he came back from somewhere else."
The sound of the television faded into the background as Kean looked out the window—where sunlight poured across the quiet street, ordinary and unreal all at once.
Kean opened the Lityear, eyes fixed on the one name he'd been waiting to see all morning — Kaye.
Usually, she'd send him a good morning message before breakfast, something simple like "Wake up sleepyhead" or a random meme she found online.
But today, nothing.
He checked the time. 2:18 PM.
Just as he was about to message her first, the phone buzzed.
Kaye: Keann, sorry for the late reply. I just woke up, I don't know why I've been sleeping too much lately.
Kean smiled faintly but frowned at the same time.
Kean: Haha, that's okay. Maybe your body just needs rest. You feeling fine though?
After a few seconds, her typing bubble appeared.
Kaye: Yeah, just a bit dizzy. My grandma said it might be because of that "solar storm thing" they're talking about again on TV. People in our area said they've been feeling weird lately too.
Kean glanced at the muted television behind him — the same news broadcast about "lingering solar particles."
Kean: Yeah… they said it's nothing to worry about. But honestly, I don't think it's just that.
Kaye: What do you mean?
Kean hesitated, remembering his aunt's story.
Kean: It's just… my aunt told me something about my grandpa. He had the same kind of headaches years ago. But it's weird — he said he "saw himself" somewhere else before he got better.
Kaye: That's kinda creepy but interesting like a dream?
Kean: Maybe. Or maybe not just a dream but a nightmare.
There was a long pause after that. Neither of them typed for a while, as if both were quietly staring at something far beyond their screens.
Kaye: I don't know, Kean… but lately, my dreams have been so weird.
Kean: Weird how?
Kaye: I keep seeing myself in an office or something. I'm sitting at a desk, signing papers… they look like immigration forms. It's so vivid I can still remember the pen's weight in my hand when I wake up.
Kean leaned back in his chair, staring at the blinking cursor.
Kean: That's strange… maybe it's stress? Or you've been thinking about work or traveling abroad lately?
Kaye: Not really. I haven't even left the city since last year. What about you? Have you had any weird dreams?
Kean sighed quietly.
Kean: Actually… yeah. Just a few nights ago. I saw Eunice again.
There was a pause in the chat.
Kaye: Your ex?
Kean: Yeah. But it didn't feel like just a memory. It felt real — like she was really there. She hugged me and kept saying, "Don't leave yet. I told your dad and my dad that we're gonna go home late."
Kaye: That's sad… but kinda beautiful too.
Kean: Maybe. But what's weird is, when I woke up, I swore I could still feel her hand on my shoulder.
Kean stopped typing for a moment. The wind outside brushed through the window, carrying the faint hum of static from power lines — the kind of silence that wasn't empty, but waiting.
Kaye: Do you think… these dreams mean something?
Kean looked back at the TV screen, where the words "residual magnetic activity" flashed in the headline ticker.
Kean: I don't know. But what if that storm didn't just mess with signals and electricity… what if it messed with us too?
The typing bubble appeared again — then vanished. Kaye didn't reply for a while.
Kaye: Then maybe… it's trying to tell us something.
The night had finally calmed. The man who screamed for help was taken to the hospital, leaving the neighborhood quiet but uneasy. The stars seemed dimmer than usual — or maybe Kean was just too distracted to notice them anymore.
He sat on his bed, still shaken, staring at his phone. Kaye hadn't replied for a while, and the distant hum of the TV in the living room filled the silence. Then finally—his phone lit up.
Kaye: "Hey, I'm sorryy. I was in the mall with grandma."
Kean: "It's okay. I just got a little worried."
Kaye: "What happened to the man you told me about?"
Kean: "He's in the hospital now. I don't know what really happened… but it's scary."
Kaye: "You know what's weird? I dreamt I was deleting all my social media accounts… every single one. And that's what I actually did months ago before I met you. I don't even know why I dreamt of it again."
Kean paused, uneasy. That same strange feeling crawled in his chest again — the one that whispered something was wrong with the world.
He turned on the TV again. The night news had just begun.
The anchor's voice was tense:
"The President of the Philippines, in coordination with the World Health Organization and the Department of Human Health, has announced a nationwide concern regarding the increasing cases of severe headaches, sudden mental instability, and unexplained comatose conditions. Hospitals are reportedly reaching full capacity."
Kean felt a cold chill crawl up his spine.
The president appeared on screen, addressing the nation.
President: "At this point, we will not mandate MRI treatments. There are no enough numbers tests that showed it can cure these symptoms. Just a few."
Kean's chest tightened. What does he mean no treatments?
Just then, a new message from Kaye popped up.
Kaye: "You heard that? The president finally agreed to make MRI treatment mandatory. That's some relief, right?"
Kean blinked, stunned.
Kean: "Wait… what? He said no. The president doesn't even care."
Kaye: "Huh? Thought he said— nvm maybe I misheard it because I was focused on you. But yeah… what a sick president."
Both screens flickered for a moment — just a faint static distortion — before returning to normal.
Neither of them spoke for a few seconds.
Kean: "Maybe the signal just glitched."
Kaye: "Yeah… maybe."
Kean pressed his palm to his forehead, his voice trembling.
Kean: "I'm okay… I'm okay. Oh no, I don't wanna be crazy like them. I didn't have these aches before — not since the burst last year. I thought it was just a normal symptom from the radiation that came. That's why I don't understand why the headaches are coming back again."
There was a pause. Then Kaye softly replied, her tone half worried, half teasing.
Kaye: "Well… sometimes I feel light-headed when I chat with you."
Kean forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.
Kean: "Hey, same here! Maybe it's the radiation from our signal. Oh no— we're cooked! Is it dangerous to chat now?!"
Kaye: "Oh, please don't say that. I don't wanna be alone, Kean… please."
His voice softened.
Kean: "Don't worry, okay? I'll be here. No matter what happens."
The call went quiet for a few seconds, both of them listening to the soft hum of the night. Kean lay back on his bed, the glow of his phone screen fading beside him. He turned to the window, his heartbeat slowing — and then he froze.
There, stretching across the horizon, was a faint ripple of color shimmering above the night sky. It wasn't lightning.
It wasn't the stars.
It was a ribbon of green and violet light, gently dancing in silence.
Kean: "Oh no… it's beautiful."
Kaye: "Beautiful? But… worried? What are you seeing?"
Kean: "For the first time ever… there's an aurora in the Philippines."
Kaye: "Wait—what? Let me see outside."
Kaye: "Oh my… it's real!"
The two sat in silence again, separated by miles but united under the same impossible light. The colors shimmered like a dream — breathtaking, otherworldly, yet heavy with the feeling that something vast had just begun.
As the lights slowly faded, Kean scrolled through his phone — his feed flooded with breaking news.
"SOLAR STORM STRIKES AGAIN — NO POWER OR SIGNAL OUTAGE REPORTED."
He exhaled slowly.
"Maybe… but hopefully not," he whispered to himself, before turning off the screen.
Outside, the last strands of aurora dimmed into darkness.
And somewhere, far beyond the stars, the storm wasn't finished yet. Leaving the world in full of mystery.