It was a sunny day.
I saw myself in a school. I had just gotten my result, and I came second place. With joy, I danced around the school compound, letting my body spin and jump without thinking. Laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me, spilling into the empty corners of the yard.
I didn't notice where I was going. The wind brushed against my face. The sun felt warm, almost too bright, but I didn't care. I just moved, dancing past classrooms, over patches of dry grass, past benches and shadows that seemed too still.
That's when I saw the bushes at the far edge of the compound. Something about them caught my attention—something I couldn't name.
Then I heard it.
A soft voice, almost swallowed by the wind.
It said my name.
I paused mid-step, my heart thumping faster than before. At first, I told myself it was my imagination. Just the echo of my laughter, maybe. I laughed nervously, shaking my head, and tried to step away.
Then it came again. Louder. Clearer. Closer.
The bushes didn't move. The air felt thick, heavy, like it was pressing down on me. My joy drained slowly, leaving a hollow weight in my chest.
I should have turned around and run.
But I didn't.
I stepped forward.
I followed the voice into the bushes.