Daniel was still staring at the dimensional window when his phone buzzed again.
The sound felt strange after everything — small, ordinary, human.
He almost ignored it.
Almost.
The name on the screen made his chest tighten.
Maya.
He hadn't spoken to her in three days.
Not since he canceled their study session. Again.
Daniel closed the window with a thought. The air sealed like nothing had been there.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Normal.
Too normal.
He answered.
"…Hey."
Her voice came through, warm, slightly breathless. "So you're alive."
A small smile tugged at his lips despite everything. "Last I checked."
"You vanish, ignore messages, and then reply at midnight. Suspicious behavior, Daniel."
"I've just been… dealing with stuff."
"Yeah," she said softly. "You always are."
That hit deeper than she meant it to.
Maya was the only person who said things like that without judgment.
They met a year ago in physics class. She argued with the professor about whether time could exist without change. Daniel had joined in.
They never stopped talking after that.
She understood his questions about existence.
She didn't know he was about to become the answer.
"Are you home?" she asked.
"Yeah."
A pause.
"I'm downstairs."
Daniel blinked. "What?"
"You didn't reply, so I figured I'd check if you were still part of this dimension."
His stomach flipped.
"Maya, it's late—"
"I brought snacks," she added. "Peace offering."
He looked at the spot in the air where a universe floated seconds ago.
Then at his door.
Two realities.
One choice.
"…Come up," he said quietly.
A knock.
He opened the door.
Maya stood there in an oversized hoodie, curls pulled back, eyes bright even under tiredness.
She studied his face.
"You look like you saw the edge of the universe," she said.
Daniel almost laughed.
"Something like that."
She walked in, dropping a small bag of chips on his table.
Then she paused.
"…Okay, what happened?"
He stiffened. "Nothing."
"Daniel."
She stepped closer.
"You disappear emotionally when something big hits you. You stare like you're not fully here." Her voice softened. "You're doing it right now."
Because part of him wasn't here.
It was watching a civilization evolve.
He turned away. "I wouldn't even know how to explain it."
"Try me."
Silence stretched.
Behind him, faintly, he felt it — a pulse from the world he created. Life moving. Time racing.
Maya didn't feel it.
She was just human.
Fragile.
Real.
She reached out and took his hand.
The contact grounded him instantly. Warm. Solid. Present.
"Whatever it is," she said gently, "you don't have to carry it alone."
Something inside him cracked — not like the sky had, but softer.
Because she meant it.
And she had no idea how impossible that promise was.
His voice came out rough.
"What if… what if I told you the world is bigger than we think?"
She smiled faintly. "Daniel, we had that argument on our second day of knowing each other."
"No, I mean bigger."
"How much bigger?"
He looked at her.
Then at the empty air beside them.
"I don't know how to be normal anymore."
Her expression shifted — not fear.
Concern.
"You don't have to be normal," she said quietly. "Just don't disappear."
The Core stirred inside him.
Attachment increases vulnerability.
He ignored it.
For the first time since the sky cracked, Daniel felt something stronger than fear.
He didn't want to lose this.
Not her.
Outside, the city hummed.
Inside his chest, a universe spun.
And Daniel understood the real danger wasn't cosmic enemies.
It was this:
He now had something the universe could take from him.