At dinner, my mother beamed with pride as I told her I'd received full marks on my assignment. Her happiness warmed me—it always did—but an unspoken fear lingered in the back of my mind.
I knew that if I ever failed, even just once, her demeanor might change.
She'd never said it outright, and I'd never given her a reason to, but I had the nagging suspicion that a failing grade would earn me silence, maybe even disappointment.
That thought had followed me since elementary school, a shadow I could never quite shake.
"So, where are you going tomorrow? Same as usual?" she asked, her tone casual but curious. She knew my weekends with Jasmine typically involved libraries or museums.
I hesitated.
Part of me wanted to tell her the truth, to admit I was going somewhere different for once.
But guilt tugged at me, and I ultimately lied. "Yep. We're going to Historic Richmond Town. I don't know much about it, but it seems interesting to learn about."
"That's good," she said with a nod. "Are you finished?"
I nodded back, signaling that I was done with my meal.
"You can go upstairs now. Study hard. And don't forget to pray to the gods for protection tomorrow."
Lowering my gaze, I replied softly, "Yes, Mom."
———
Upstairs, my room was a mess.
Books and papers were scattered everywhere, my pillows and blanket lay crumpled on the floor, and even the idols of the gods I kept on my shelf had toppled over.
The sight embarrassed me; I couldn't remember the last time I'd taken the time to clean.
My classmates' whispers about my obsessive studying habits replayed in my head. They always snickered about how I buried myself in work, calling it "weird" or "excessive."
I'd learned to tune them out, but now, standing in this disarray, I wondered if they had a point.
Still, I didn't have the energy to tidy up tonight. I resolved to deal with it tomorrow. For now, I climbed into bed with my copy of The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon.
It was part of my nightly routine to read before sleep, but something about the professor's words earlier lingered in my mind.
Instead of opening the book, I picked up my phone.
Until now, my phone had been strictly a tool for academics. But tonight, for the first time, I decided to explore the digital world.
It felt strange, like stepping into an unfamiliar realm, but curiosity pushed me forward.
I lost track of time as I wandered through pages and apps, discovering a side of life I'd never paid attention to.
Three hours passed in the blink of an eye. Exhaustion finally claimed me, and I drifted into sleep without bothering to pick up my pillows or blanket from the floor.
What came next was a dream—one so vivid and bizarre that it shook me to my core.
I found myself in the middle of a street drenched in blood. A weapon rested in my hands, its weight pressing against my fingers like it had been there for hours.
Around me, the lifeless bodies of zombies lay sprawled on the pavement, their heads crushed by some blunt object. My own body bore scars, deep and fresh, and even a few bite marks.
I should have been terrified. Everything about this nightmare felt far too real. But instead of fear, all I felt was anger.
The world around me was eerily silent, save for the occasional groan of a distant zombie. The streets were desolate, the air thick with the metallic stench of blood.
I looked down at myself, covered in grime and wounds, and tried to piece together how I'd ended up here.
Nothing made sense. This dream—if it was a dream—was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. I'd never even been interested in zombie movies.
The characters always made such irrational decisions that it frustrated me.
But here I was, standing in the middle of my own personal apocalypse, as though it had been waiting for me all along.
I then noticed a familiar figure standing a few feet away. It was the same one I'd seen in a dream months ago, a figure I couldn't forget no matter how much I tried.
It stood amidst a circle of fallen zombies, its body splattered with blood, mirroring my own state.
The sight sent an unsettling wave through me—not fear, but anger.
My hands trembled, and my chest tightened with a rage I couldn't explain.
I wanted to wake up, to escape this bizarre, horrifying nightmare.
With a sudden jolt, I shot upright in bed, my blankets and books tumbling to the floor. The mess in my room worsened, but I barely noticed as I scrambled to catch my breath.
A glance at the clock told me it was 6:30 AM. My head pounded, the sharp pain unlike anything I'd felt since childhood.
I pressed my palms against my temples, trying to make sense of what I had just experienced.
What was that dream? It felt too vivid, too real. I'd read stories about people dreaming of future events, but that couldn't be it.
A zombie apocalypse? Ridiculous. The whole concept was absurd, a trope of fiction with no grounding in reality.
Yet, something about it lingered, nagging at the edges of my mind.
Knowing it was far too early to meet Jasmine, I resolved to distract myself.
After a long shower, I sat down at my desk and opened The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. If anything could get my mind off that nightmare, it would be immersing myself in Gibbon's meticulous prose.
But even as I read, I found myself unable to fully focus. The words blurred together, interrupted by flashes of the dream.
The figure. The blood. The inexplicable anger.
I flipped through the pages mechanically, forcing myself to absorb the text, yet the unease remained.
"What was that...?" I muttered to myself, my voice barely above a whisper.
The question hung in the air, unanswered and unnerving.
An hour passed, and I finally closed the book with a heavy sigh. The distraction had worked, if only slightly, and I decided it was time to get ready.
Normally, I'd opt for formal attire—tuxedos, polos, or something equally professional—since Jasmine and I usually visited museums or libraries.
But this time was different. We were going to an arcade, and I wanted to dress the part.
I chose an outfit that felt adventurous yet comfortable. A rust-colored knit beanie, complete with a playful pom-pom, perched snugly on my head.
My long, brown hair tumbled in soft waves beneath the hat, framing my face.
For my top, I picked a button-down henley shirt in a muted beige hue, its soft fabric adding an understated elegance.
Around my waist, I tied a plaid shirt in shades of yellow and black, its long sleeves hanging loose for a casual, carefree vibe. High-waisted tailored shorts, matching the earthy tones of my shirt, emphasized my legs.
For footwear, I laced up sturdy brown leather boots, their rugged look softened by a pair of blue ribbed socks that peeked above their tops, offering a subtle pop of color.
"Is this too much?" I asked myself, scrutinizing the outfit in the mirror.
My mother wouldn't approve, that much was certain.
She valued professionalism above all else, and sneaking out dressed like this felt rebellious in a way that both thrilled and unnerved me.
I prayed to the gods for guidance and protection before grabbing a loaf of bread from the kitchen and slipping out of the house.
As I heard my mother stirring in the living room, I quickened my pace, darting out the door before she could catch sight of me.
I flagged down a taxi and climbed in, exhaling a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
The thought of my mother's disapproval tugged at me, but as the cab pulled away, a strange sense of liberation washed over me.
Was this freedom? Or something else entirely? I didn't know.
All I knew was that, for the first time, I wasn't following the rules.
———
Once I arrived at the Wonder Station—formerly known as Fun Station before its renovation last year—I spotted Jasmine waiting for me outside.
I froze in place, stunned by her appearance. Her hair, now cut short in a tomboyish style, framed her face in a way that was both striking and unfamiliar.
The way she dressed stirred something within me, a feeling I desperately tried to suppress.
Jasmine's outfit was a masterclass in effortless confidence. She wore a form-fitting black turtleneck with a high neckline that accentuated her sleek figure, exuding a balance of elegance and simplicity.
Over it, she had a cropped purple leather jacket that gleamed under the early morning light, its metallic zippers and straps adding a bold edge.
Her high-waisted black shorts, tailored to perfection, were cinched at the waist by a minimalist belt. The shorts ended just above mid-thigh, showing off her legs, which were clad in knee-high black socks that seamlessly transitioned into polished leather boots.
The boots, with their thick soles and sturdy build, radiated a mix of style and practicality.
I felt heat rise to my cheeks as I struggled to maintain composure. "Hi. How long have you been waiting?" I managed to ask, trying to focus on anything other than her.
"Hi, Mary! Only about five minutes. You're earlier than usual," Jasmine replied, her tone light and teasing, alluding to my habitual lateness during our weekend meetups.
"Well... trying something new," I stammered, cringing internally at my poor attempt to deflect.
I needed to get a grip. My heart was racing as if I were back on my first date with my ex. Why did my friends have to dress in ways that could practically give me a heart attack!?
Jasmine spun around with a playful grin. "What do you think? My dad bought this for me to impress my date two years ago. I guess that would be you."
Hearing that left me flustered beyond belief. If this were an anime, I'd have a dramatic nosebleed and pass out on the spot.
Instead, I was left grappling with the overwhelming urge to flee.
My usually composed self was nowhere to be found, and I cursed myself for letting my guard down. I should have been thinking about next week's exams instead of letting this throw me off.
September 11 marked the start of exams for all my subjects, and I couldn't afford to fail. A reasonable part of me considered fabricating a stomach ache—something I genuinely suffered from occasionally—but the thought of seeing Jasmine's disappointment held me back.
It's just one day, I told myself.
Surely, I could set aside my usual seriousness for that long.
"Shall we go in?" Jasmine asked, holding the door open for me with an exaggerated flourish. "After you, my lady."
I rolled my eyes, though a smile tugged at my lips. "Real funny, Jaz."
Inside, the day unfolded with laughter and competition. We played a variety of arcade games, starting with Pac-Man, where I somehow excelled.
To my own surprise—and Jasmine's astonishment—I achieved a high score of 333,360, far surpassing the previous score of 71,980.
People gathered to watch as I methodically navigated the maze, having deduced a pattern that made the game almost too easy.
While others were amazed, I couldn't shake the nagging thought that I was approaching it too analytically, draining the fun in favor of strategy.
Other games didn't come as naturally.
I failed miserably at Whack-A-Mole, stumbled through Dance Dance Revolution, and barely managed to score in Basketball Shootout. I fared decently in Silver Strike Bowling and Street Fighter, though I was soundly beaten by a group of competitive children.
Their skill was both impressive and slightly terrifying, leaving me to wonder if academics would even matter in a future dominated by gaming prodigies.
Through it all, I couldn't help but notice how much fun Jasmine was having. She laughed freely, her carefree demeanor drawing attention from nearly every boy in the arcade. Their admiring glances followed her wherever she went.
Some of them were undeniably handsome, but the lack of attention directed my way stirred a quiet frustration. I didn't usually care about such things, yet it stung to feel so overshadowed.
I caught sight of myself in the reflective screen of an out-of-order arcade machine. Compared to Jasmine, I looked painfully ordinary.
My long hair, once a point of pride, suddenly seemed dull.
"Should I cut my hair short too?" I muttered, then immediately slapped myself hard enough to startle the nearby children. "What are you doing? My long hair is a symbol of femininity and beauty! The gods would curse me if I ever disrespected it!"
As I glanced back at the screen, my heart skipped a beat.
A humanoid figure flickered into view, its presence so brief that I almost doubted what I had seen.
My body jerked in fright, eliciting concerned glances from the kids around me.
The figure was gone, yet the lingering unease remained. Then, for a few seconds, my vision shifted—everything bathed in a shimmering gold light—before abruptly returning to normal.
"Are you okay?" a soft voice asked.
I turned to see a young woman wearing an arcade uniform, her name tag identifying her as Josephine. "I'm fine," I replied, though my voice lacked conviction. "Thanks, Ms. Josephine?"
"Uh, yes. My name's Priscilla Josephine," she confirmed with a polite smile. "I work here part-time. If you need anything, feel free to let me know."