he sun burned lazily over Maputo, spreading a heat that both caressed the skin and pressed down on the shoulders. On that Tuesday morning, the city was slowly waking: the streets hummed with car horns, fruit vendors calling out to customers, and the distant sound of barefoot children running through the neighborhood. Inside the stuffy classroom of the Pedagogical University of Maputo (UP), however, everything seemed slower, as if time itself had decided to crawl.
In the middle of the room, Steve, seventeen, was completely surrendered to sleep. His face buried in open notebooks, a thin line of drool marking his defeat, he was living proof that not every young mind could resist the monotony of routine. The Didactics lecture was already halfway through, yet his body seemed to ignore every concept, explanation, or lesson plan.
Steve wore a black anime T-shirt, worn-out jeans, and a gamer bracelet engraved with the word Respawn. Around his neck hung wireless earphones — off, yet symbolic, as if they were his tether to another universe. He had those little quirks that made him unique: biting the end of a pen when deep in thought, furrowing his eyebrows as though deciphering secrets invisible to everyone else — even when the professor spoke.
Professor Domingos, tired of repeating the same lessons, finally focused his attention and, with a voice that echoed through the classroom:
— STEVE MATSINHE!!!
He hurled a piece of chalk with sniper-like precision, hitting Steve squarely on the forehead.
— This isn't a Genshin bed, young man!
The class erupted in laughter.
Someone shouted, "Bet he was dreaming about Kaeya!"
Steve jerked awake, blinking rapidly. He wiped his mouth, tried to look busy, and began scribbling nonsense as if his life depended on it. The drool stain on his notebook, however, betrayed him.
When class finally ended, Steve slipped out quietly.
The hallway was filled with chatter, clattering folders, laughter, and whispers, yet he felt detached, as if moving through the city inside an invisible bubble. The Maputo heat hit him like a physical punch, and his backpack felt heavier with each step — not just books, but thoughts dragging behind him like shadows.
Then a familiar whistle cut through the air.
"Wake up, zombie student!"
Steve turned to see Denzel, nineteen, a Fine Arts student at UEM. A red bandana tied around his hair, sketchbook under his arm, and a smile that seemed to contain entire worlds. Denzel was famous on social media: TikTok and Kwai videos blending dances, speed drawings, and profound reflections about life. But at heart, he was simply someone who saw the world differently — someone who could see beyond the ordinary.
"Denzel! You good, bro?" Steve gave him a friendly fist bump.
"Always, my king. You? Sleeping through life or dreaming of another one?"
They laughed, but as they walked, the laughter slowly faded.
Steve kicked a small pebble along the pavement, his gaze distant.
"Man… I don't know. This degree is draining me. Feels like I'm walking a path I never chose."
Denzel stopped, took a deep breath, and spoke firmly:
"Brother… you are not the country. You are your own universe. It may not make sense now, but don't let the system define you. Dreaming is still an act of resistance. It will hurt, but keep going."
Steve remained silent. The words struck deep but also sparked a faint glimmer of hope inside him, like someone had thrown a small light into a dark corridor, revealing doors that he could still open.
Denzel's minibus arrived, and he climbed aboard, waving through the window.
Steve waved back, forcing a slow smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He stood there for a moment, watching the traffic, the honking, the heat shimmering on the asphalt. A strange emptiness coursed through his chest, though he couldn't tell whether it was sadness or just fatigue from always living under others' expectations.
Without deciding, he mounted his bike and pedaled toward the hospital. The warm wind on his face couldn't lift the weight pressing on him. Each rotation of the pedals seemed to carry him closer to the place where reality hit hardest.
The hospital smelled of disinfectant, mixed with something heavier — sorrow trying to hide behind cleanliness.
He climbed to the second floor, walked down the pale-blue corridor, and stopped in front of Room 213.
Inside, the steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the room, breaking the silence only momentarily.
On the bed lay his mother, wrapped in crisp white sheets, motionless, her breathing guided by tubes and wires that seemed to suspend her between two worlds.
Steve approached slowly, pulled up a chair, and sat beside her. He held her hand — warm, yet lifeless — and remained there for a few moments, trying to feel any sign of life beyond the electronic beeping.
He inhaled deeply and whispered:
"Mom… I don't know if you can hear me, but… I'm trying, okay? I'm trying to stay strong. Sometimes I just want to give up. But I don't. Because of you. You've always been my strength."
Tears didn't fall. They lingered, trapped, as if time itself had decided to hold them back. Sunlight streamed through the window, reflecting faintly on the Respawn bracelet around his wrist — a quiet reminder that there was still hope, restarts, and paths left untraveled.
He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling fragments of childhood memories: the smell of fresh bread baking, tight hugs, the loud laughter of his siblings. Everything seemed distant, yet it pulsed quietly in his heart.
"If I could… I'd restart everything," he murmured softly.
At that instant, something caught his attention.
The heart monitor let out a long, sharp beep — longer than usual. Steve froze, his heart racing.
"Mom…?"
Silence. The beeping normalized again, steady and calm, but a chill ran down his spine. For just a brief moment, so fleeting that he almost doubted it, he felt his mother's hand squeeze his.
That moment hit him with a strange mix of pain and hope, leaving a feeling that reality wasn't just what he could see, but also what he could feel — and perhaps, what was yet to come.
Steve remained kneeling, holding her hand, surrounded by silence, memories, and the subtle hums of the hospital that seemed to echo in his mind like a distant melody.
The day ended that way: with a sense that something new was about to awaken, something beyond the world he knew.
And deep within him grew an unshakable desire to wake up — but not in this world