Evan was running.
He did not remember when it started. He did not remember why he was running. He only knew that stopping felt impossible.
The ground beneath his feet was broken concrete, cracked and uneven, stretching endlessly ahead. Buildings rose on both sides of the street, tall and lifeless, their windows dark like empty eye sockets. Sirens wailed somewhere far away, then cut off mid sound, as if something had reached out and strangled the noise.
The sky was wrong.
It was not night. It was not a day. Thick clouds churned overhead, folding into each other, glowing faintly from within like embers buried under ash.
Evan slowed.
People stood all around him.
Hundreds of them. Thousands.
They were frozen mid-motion. A man reaching for a child. A woman screaming, mouth open, sound trapped inside her throat. A cyclist leaning forward, forever on the edge of falling.
None of them moved.
Evan stepped closer to a child crouched near the sidewalk. The child's eyes were wide, glassy, reflecting the burning sky.
"Hey," Evan said.
No response.
He reached out.
Before his fingers touched the child's shoulder, the air vibrated.
A low hum spread through the street, deep and heavy, like something massive shifting beneath the ground. The buildings groaned. Cracks spiderwebbed across walls. Windows shattered without sound, shards hanging in the air instead of falling.
Evan pulled his hand back.
His heart began to pound.
This again.
He knew this place. Not by memory, but by certainty. This was the same dream. The same moment. The same ending was waiting patiently for him.
The hum deepened.
Far down the street, the road collapsed inward. Not exploding. Folding. Like paper crumpling under invisible pressure. Cars bent and twisted, sinking into the ground as if swallowed.
People began to move.
At first, Evan felt relief.
Then he heard the screaming.
They ran. Tripped. Fell. Pushed past one another. The frozen expressions shattered into panic. The sound hit him all at once, raw and overwhelming.
"Help!"
"Please!"
"Where do we go?"
Evan stood still.
He scanned the street, his mind racing. There had to be a way. A pattern. Disasters followed rules. Physics always did.
If he could redirect them. If he could get them to higher ground. If he could just slow the collapse—a building to his left tilted.
Slowly. Deliberately.
Evan watched as the structure leaned, its base grinding against the street. People below it screamed and scattered.
This was the point.
The moment.
He knew it with chilling clarity.
If he acted now, he could change something. Maybe not everything. But something.
He took a step forward.
The hum spiked.
Pain flared behind his eyes. The air thickened, pressing against his chest. It felt like the world itself was pushing back, resisting his decision.
Evan hesitated.
Just for a second.
In that second, the building fell.
It did not crash.
It erased what stood beneath it.
The street folded inward. The sky darkened. The screams cut off one by one, like lights switching off in a vast room.
Evan felt it then. The weight. The certainty.
This was not a warning.
This was a record.
"No," he whispered.
The ground split open at his feet. Darkness rushed up, swallowing everything.
Evan fell.
And woke up.
He sat upright in bed, gasping.
His room was dark. The ceiling fan spun above him, its shadow crawling across the ceiling. His chest burned as he dragged air into his lungs, each breath shaky and uneven.
It took several seconds for the dream to release him.
His phone buzzed on the bedside table.
2:17 AM.
Evan wiped a hand over his face. His palm came away damp with sweat. His heart refused to slow, pounding like it was trying to escape his ribs.
"It's just a dream," he muttered.
The words sounded weak.
He lay back down, staring at the ceiling.
The fan rotated.
Once. Twice.
Then it stopped.
Evan frowned.
The light switch was still on. The power had not gone out. The room was silent now.
The fan started again.
Slowly.
Evan sat up.
His desk chair shifted.
Just a little.
He froze.
The chair stood near the desk, exactly where he had left it. Except now it was angled slightly, one leg lifted just enough to be noticeable.
Evan swung his legs off the bed and stood.
He took one step toward the chair.
It moved.
It slid back an inch, smooth and controlled, as if nudged by an invisible hand.
Evan's breath caught.
"No," he whispered.
He backed away, bumping into the bed. His pulse roared in his ears. His eyes flicked around the room, searching for a rational explanation.
Open window. Draft. Vibration from the corridor.
Nothing.
The air felt heavy. Charged.
The chair slid again.
Another inch.
Evan clenched his fists.
This was stress. Sleep deprivation. His mind replayed the nightmare.
He forced himself to step forward.
As he did, the pressure in the room spiked. It felt like walking into deep water. His ears rang. The light above flickered.
The chair lifted.
Just off the ground.
Evan stared at it, his thoughts unravelling.
He did not scream.
He did not run.
He reached out.
The moment his fingers extended, the pressure snapped.
The chair slammed back onto the floor. The light steadied. The air cleared.
Silence.
Evan stood there, frozen, his arm still raised.
Slowly, he lowered it.
His hand was trembling.
He did not sleep again that night.
Morning came anyway.
The boys' hostel corridor buzzed with life as usual. Laughter. Footsteps. Doors slamming. Evan walked through it all like he was underwater, sounds muted, movements distant.
Luke fell into step beside him near the stairs.
"You look terrible," Luke said cheerfully. "Did you finally decide to study all night like a normal overachiever?"
"I didn't sleep," Evan replied.
Luke squinted at him. "Nightmares?"
Evan hesitated. "Something like that."
Luke nodded sympathetically. "Same. Dreamt I failed every exam at once. Woke up sweating."
They reached the canteen.
Marcus and Noah were already there. Emily joined them a few minutes later, her hair still damp from a hurried shower.
She looked at Evan and frowned. "You're pale."
"I'm fine," Evan said automatically.
She did not look convinced.
Classes passed in a blur. Evan copied notes mechanically, his attention fractured. Every small sound made him flinch. Every movement at the edge of his vision drew his focus.
During a break, his pen rolled off the desk.
It stopped mid-air.
For less than a second.
Then it hit the floor.
Evan stared at the spot where it had fallen.
His classmates continued talking, laughing, unaware.
No one else had seen it.
His phone vibrated.
A message from Noah.
"Did something happen last night?"
Evan's fingers hovered over the screen.
"What do you mean?"
A pause.
Then Noah replied.
"You are reacting before things happen."
Evan's throat tightened.
He typed.
"You are imagining things."
Another pause.
Then.
"So are you."
Evan locked his phone and slipped it into his pocket.
After classes, he did not go back to the hostel.
He walked.
Across campus. Past the library. Past the sports field. He needed space. Air. Distance from walls that felt too close.
Near the edge of campus, a commotion drew his attention.
A crowd had gathered by the road.
A car sat at an odd angle, its front crumpled against a bent lamppost. Smoke rose from the hood. A woman stood nearby, shaking, blood trickling from her forehead.
Evan's feet slowed.
Someone yelled, "Call an ambulance!"
Another voice. "She's trapped!"
Evan's heart began to race.
He took a step forward.
The dream surged in his mind. The hesitation. The collapse.
If he did nothing, someone else would help. They always did. He did not have to be the one.
The woman cried out.
Evan clenched his jaw.
He moved.
As he approached the car, the world sharpened. Sounds faded. The smoke slowed, curling upward in lazy spirals.
Evan grabbed the door.
It was jammed.
He pulled.
The metal groaned.
The lamppost creaked.
With a sharp twist, the door tore free.
The crowd gasped.
Evan barely noticed.
He reached inside, unbuckled the woman, and lifted her out. She was light. Her breathing was shallow but steady.
As he set her down, a wave of dizziness hit him.
The pressure returned. Stronger this time.
The lamppost behind him bent.
Not from damage.
From force.
Evan turned just in time to see it snap back into place.
No one else reacted.
Sirens approached in the distance.
Evan staggered back, his chest tight, his vision swimming.
As the ambulance arrived and people rushed forward, Evan slipped away.
He did not look back.
That night, he stood alone in his hostel room, staring at his reflection in the dark window.
The city lights flickered behind him.
"I didn't mean to," he whispered.
The reflection did not respond.
But for just a moment, Evan could have sworn it smiled.