At 3:20 PM, Aysel was en route to the airport bus stop, planning an early check-in to avoid stress. Her luggage trailed behind her as her eyes scanned the already dense crowd ahead. Anticipating a long wait, she looked down at her phone, nestled in a headset, searching for somewhere to rest inside the airport.
But her thoughts were shattered as first one shoulder, then the other, was violently bumping against her. In an instant, she was trapped, squeezed tightly by bodies. A wave of oppressive heat made her gasp in disbelief—wasn't she still in Japan? Her head reeled. Desperate, she fought to break free, pushing towards a nearby bench as the pungent mix of body odor and heat assaulted her.
When she finally made it to the bench she collapsed onto it instantly, quickly bringing her backpack carrier to her lap where Felix slept soundly. Her luggage lay beside her. As panic surged within her. She distinctly remembered heading for the bus stop, but how she arrived here was a complete mystery.
Her eyes took in the scene: a sprawling area of dirt, not roads, flanked by a multitude of wooden stores. Then, a strange clarity settled over the details. Everyone wore leather sandals. The women were dressed in long, white gowns, and the men in white cloths secured with a small silver plate at the shoulder paired with over knee-length shorts.
She was completely out of place. Feeling an urgent need to get awag, she stood, forcing herself to move, despite being conspicuous in her sneakers, "I love Japan" cropped shirt, and messy bun.
Every eye in the crowd seemed to fix on her, their long glances burning into her skin as she walked. Aysel veered sharply into a narrow alley, a mercifully empty space where the pretense finally shattered and full-blown panic seized her. Her backpack carrier felt heavy on her back as she frantically pulled her luggage, the wheels jarring and skipping with every small rock it hit on the uneven ground.
She stumbled out of the alley's mouth, her eyes widening at the sight of what lay beyond. Instead of dirt paths and wooden shops, looming structures of old stone and brick dominated the skyline, their height dwarfing everything she'd just left. The crowd thinned considerably here, offering little comfort as her panic spiraled. Her gaze darted, desperate for a familiar anchor, until it snagged on a weathered sign she could not understand
Aysel moved quickly into the building. The moment she stepped inside, a man in an absurd outfit—white satin rompers and a bizarre, comical hat—greeted her. "A'ves asmidth toya turga?" he mumbled, his voice thick with an unfamiliar accent. Aysel's brow furrowed in utter confusion, her eyes wide as she stared at the peculiar figure. Sensing her bewilderment, he swiftly led her to a central desk.
There, an old woman with odd glasses subjected Aysel to an unnerving, head-to-toe scrutiny. The old woman then produced a small glass, Aysel blinked, her gaze flickering between the woman and the glass she'd just placed before them. In a swift, startling motion, the old woman seized the glass and forcefully made Aysel drink its contents. Green liquid spilled from the corners of Aysel's mouth as she desperately tried to swallow.
She hit the ground hard, landing butt-first, her head spinning. She narrowed her eyes, struggling to focus through the blur, while a foreign, sickening sensation in her throat made her stomach churn. She squeezed her eyes shut, then forced them to open again. The pounding in her head ceased abruptly, her vision sharpening just in time to see the old woman pulling out a key from her pocket and handing it to the man. Before she could process the exchange, darkness swallowed her whole, and she collapsed sideways onto the ground.