His grip tightened around the phone.
His last clear mory before everything had shifted was... what? The room? The door? The choice?
Or had it been before that?
His thoughts raced, trying to stitch together the fragnts.
Then another ssage ca.
**Go to the park.**
Jude hesitated.
But then, as if his body had already decided before his mind could catch up, he found himself moving.
The streets blurred around him as he walked. The city felt both familiar and distant, like a mory he hadn’t visited in a long ti. No one seed to notice him, as if he were just another passerby in the grand sche of their lives.
When he reached the park, the sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The air was cooler here, carrying the scent of grass and earth. Children played in the distance, laughter echoing through the space.
Jude scanned the area.
At first, nothing stood out.
Then, near one of the benches, he saw soone.
A man, sitting with his hands clasped together, watching the world with unreadable eyes.
Jude didn’t recognize him.
But sothing told him he was the reason he was here.
He took a step forward.
The man turned his head slightly, as if sensing him before actually seeing him. Then, slowly, he smiled.
"Jude."
Jude stopped.
His na rolled off the man’s tongue with a familiarity that sent unease crawling up his spine.
"You’re late," the man added, tilting his head. "But I suppose that’s expected."
Jude swallowed. "Who are you?"
The man’s smile didn’t falter. "That’s the real question, isn’t it?"
Jude clenched his fists. "I don’t have ti for riddles."
The man chuckled. "Oh, but ti is all you have now."
Jude exhaled sharply, frustration simring beneath his skin. "Why did you tell to co here?"
The man studied him for a mont before gesturing to the empty space on the bench beside him. "Sit."
Jude hesitated.
But then, against his better judgnt, he sat.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The city moved around them, unaware of the quiet tension that hung in the air.
Then, finally, the man said, "You’ve been lost for a long ti."
Jude didn’t respond.
The man continued, his voice softer now. "You felt it, didn’t you? The way things stopped making sense. The way the world bent around you."
Jude’s fingers curled against his palm. "What are you talking about?"
The man turned to him then, his eyes darker than they had been before.
"You still think this is real?"
Jude’s breath hitched.
The world around him felt solid. The bench beneath him was firm. The air was cool against his skin.
But hadn’t he already questioned this?
Hadn’t he already realized that sothing wasn’t right?
The man leaned forward slightly. "You’re still waking up, Jude."
A shiver ran through him.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "This... this is real."
The man smiled again, but this ti, it was tinged with sothing almost sympathetic.
"If it were real," he said quietly, "wouldn’t you rember how you got here?"
Jude opened his mouth—then froze.
The mory of walking here was fresh. He rembered the streets, the people, the way the sunlight had filtered through the buildings.
But before that?
What had he been doing before that?
His stomach twisted.
He turned sharply toward the man, his heart pounding. "What is this?"
The man exhaled, almost as if he had been waiting for this mont.
"A transition."
Jude’s hands trembled.
"Between what?" he whispered.
The man t his gaze.
"You already know."
Jude shook his head, his breath uneven.
But deep down, in the part of himself he had been avoiding, he did know.
He had never left the white space.
The city, the park, the people—they weren’t real.
They were just another layer of the illusion.
And the worst part?
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to wake up.
Jude remained on the bench, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the last traces of sunlight lted into the city skyline. The man beside him didn’t speak again, as if giving him ti to process things at his own pace. But Jude wasn’t sure he wanted ti. He wanted answers.
With a sharp breath, he stood. His legs felt steady beneath him, his mind clear despite the lingering unease from their conversation. The city still moved around him, the distant hum of traffic, the laughter of children playing, the occasional bark of a dog carried by the wind. It was all real. It had to be.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, his fingers brushing against sothing small and tallic. His keys. His apartnt keys. He exhaled. That was sothing concrete. He had a place. He had a life.
Without another word, he turned away from the man and started walking.
The streets stretched before him, familiar yet distant, like a mory he hadn’t revisited in years. The neon signs flickered to life as the city transitioned into night. He navigated the roads instinctively, turning corners without thinking, his feet carrying him toward ho.
When he reached his apartnt building, he paused at the entrance. It was a modest place, old but well-maintained. The lobby slled faintly of floor cleaner, and the elevator humd as it ascended. He pressed the button for his floor and leaned against the wall, watching the numbers blink one by one.
His apartnt was exactly as he had left it. The mont he stepped inside, he was greeted by the familiar scent of coffee and sothing faintly herbal—maybe the remnants of the tea he had brewed that morning. The lights flickered on with a soft glow, casting warm shadows against the walls.
He dropped his keys onto the counter and stood there for a mont, taking everything in. His couch, the books scattered on the coffee table, the faint hum of the refrigerator. It was all here.
And yet, sothing felt off.
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