Chapter Two – A Day Like Any Other
I woke up feeling breathless, lungs burning like I had been drowning in my sleep. My hand shot to my chest, then to my throat. Air. I had air , Just a dream.
I sighed, letting my head sink back into the pillow. It was just a dream.
I whispered a prayer, rejecting every bad vision, every cursed image that tried to follow me out of the night. I couldn't start my day like that—not weighed down by shadows.
Still, something was strange. Despite the heaviness of the dream, I felt… lighter. Better. Almost happy.
It made no sense, but I wasn't about to question it. Happiness was too rare to dissect.
I pushed myself out of bed, shook off the lingering unease, and forced myself into routine. Bath. Toothbrush. Comb through my hair, dry it, style it until I recognized myself again. I wasn't the kind of person to care about appearances too much, but today felt different. Today felt… promising.
My phone alarm chimed. Right on cue: my favorite restaurant was opening. And better—discount day. Half-off on everything. A gift from heaven.
I smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all.
As I pulled on my clothes, a thought hit me.
"Shit—my book."
I froze.
That book. The one I had been working on for years. Two years, maybe more. Always writing, never finishing. I had promised myself I would complete it, but the words always ran dry, leaving me staring at empty pages. Even the title escaped me. How could I name something that didn't want to end?
I couldn't leave it behind. Not today. Somehow, it felt important.
Sliding it into my bag, I whispered a quiet vow: This time, I'll finish it. I have to. It feels unfair to leave it undone.
I grabbed some cash, slipped on my shoes, and headed out the door with the book pressing like a weight against my side.
After all, you can't write on an empty stomach, right?
The morning air was crisp, almost too crisp. The streets glistened faintly, though it hadn't rained. The sky was the clearest blue I'd ever seen, and the air carried a sweetness that didn't belong to the city I knew. I told myself I was imagining things.
But as I walked, I noticed something else.
The people.
They moved in silence. Not the usual city silence filled with honks, chatter, and the hum of life. This was different. Their mouths opened and closed in conversation, yet no sound reached me. Their footsteps fell in rhythm with mine, like we were part of a march I hadn't joined.
I slowed. They slowed.
I looked down at my phone, just to ground myself. The screen flickered once, then showed the right time: 9:00 a.m. Restaurant opening. Perfect.
Still, my chest tightened. I shook it off with a laugh. Too much overthinking. Too much dream still stuck in my head.
I pushed forward, clutching my bag, the weight of the unfinished book somehow heavier now.
By the time the restaurant's neon sign glowed at the end of the street, I exhaled in relief. The world hadn't completely gone mad. I was here, alive, hungry, ready to eat and maybe even write.
But as I reached the door, I noticed something strange.
Through the glass, the restaurant looked full—every table occupied. People were eating, laughing, gesturing. But when I pulled the door open…
Silence.
Every head turned.
Every pair of eyes landed on me.