[12 Hours After the Entrance Exam — Manhattan, USA]
The alarm on his phone shrieked like a blade slicing through silence—an unbearable noise that tore Calwyn from sleep.
His eyes fluttered open, clouded by confusion, while a throbbing pain seized his skull.
He sat up, still tangled in the remnants of slumber, and searched for the source of that infernal sound.
The phone. He grabbed it with a shaky hand and silenced it.
But that wasn't the worst of it.
As he turned his head, the sight that met his eyes deepened his unease.
He wasn't alone.
Two young women lay sleeping beside him, their skin pale as porcelain, their breathing soft and steady.
A strange sensation gripped him.
What the hell...?
His thoughts scrambled, overwhelmed by the pounding in his skull.
One glance at one of the women, and he felt like an actor in a film gone terribly wrong.
The contest… what did I do?
He shot up from the bed, his limbs still numb with sleep.
His hands were trembling.
He looked at the two women again, eyes wide, and spoke aloud—more to himself than to them:
— Wait... I lost my virginity? And I don't remember a thing?
He dropped back onto the edge of the bed. His head was still spinning, but now it wasn't just from pain—
It was panic.
I guess I didn't do anything at the contest... I must've gotten drunk… and ended up like this.
He lowered his head, melancholy settling over him like a shroud.
— My head's killing me, he muttered weakly.
The women shifted slightly but didn't wake.
Quietly, Calwyn slipped out of bed, trying to escape the confusion of that room.
He moved toward the door, head down, mind drowning in a sea of dark thoughts.
---
Outside, the chill of the Manhattan morning bit at his skin.
The honking of horns, the rush of engines, the footsteps of a city never sleeping—
All of it blurred into background noise.
He was lost in thought, too consumed by inner turmoil to notice anything around him.
A car swerved sharply onto the street and nearly hit him.
— Damn bastard! If you wanna die, go do it somewhere else!
The insult escaped his lips before he could stop it.
And then, angrier than before, he grumbled:
— Kids these days… no respect at all.
Still dazed, he crossed the street without looking, the world around him fading into insignificance.
He raised a hand to hail a taxi, almost on instinct.
— Greenwich Village, he said mechanically.
The driver, an older man with kind eyes, nodded.
— Ah, uptown. You got it.
Calwyn climbed in, his thoughts still scattered.
For a moment, silence filled the cab.
But the driver, sensing the storm in his passenger's eyes, offered something unexpected.
— Want a candy?
He held out a small tin he kept on the dashboard.
Calwyn hesitated, then, remembering his manners, took one.
— Thank you.
The driver smiled, his eyes soft with a quiet wisdom.
— This Diaz track playing right now… she's my favorite. That sound? Hits me right in the soul.
Every time I'm stuck in a rut, it's like the world pauses just long enough for me to breathe again.
He glanced toward Calwyn.
— What about you, son? What's got you looking like that?
Calwyn stared out the window, silent.
Then, slowly, his lips quivered.
Tears threatened to rise, but he held them back.
A heavy sigh escaped his chest.
— I failed to reach my dream, sir.
His voice carried a sorrow so deep, it seemed to drag the weight of the world behind it.
— My mother paid a fortune for me to be here. For me to compete. To get a second chance.
But… I blew it.
And just like we planned, I'll go study economics now…
Because I guess… that's all I'm good for.
The driver nodded slowly, understanding in his gaze.
— I see…
He paused, letting the music linger between them.
— But listen—
When the world pushes you down, push back.
Not by breaking, but by moving forward anyway. Even when everything says you shouldn't.
He turned the wheel gently as they neared the destination.
— Don't let failure define you, son.
Don't let your fall be your final act.
Then, the car slowed.
— We're here.
Calwyn looked down.
— Yes, sir.
His voice was dull.
— How much do I owe you?
— It's free for you, kid.
The driver smiled warmly.
— Just don't give up, alright?
Calwyn barely had time to thank him before the man drove off, disappearing into the city streets.
He stood there for a moment, motionless, then finally began to walk again.
---
He arrived at the corner store where he worked part-time.
The soft jingle of the door echoed into the quiet shop as he stepped inside.
Behind the counter stood Mrs. Rich, the manager.
An elderly woman with an astonishing spark for her age.
— You're back, my little Calwyn, she said cheerfully.
Her voice was gentle, familiar—far too bright for his current state.
— Yes, ma'am, he replied dully.
She smiled, but noticed something instantly.
— That urgent matter you had to take care of…? Everything okay?
— Something like that, he said, a weary sigh escaping his lips.
He headed for the back of the store.
— I'll take care of the register.
She stepped aside without a word, letting him be.
Calwyn slipped on his apron and took his place behind the counter.
He stood there, staring at the empty shelves.
Memories began to flood back—ones he wished he could forget.
He saw himself as a boy, at a New Year's party, his father asking him to serve drinks to the guests.
His dad always called him "my favorite bartender,"
And laughed with joy as he watched his son serve with care.
Calwyn lowered his head, eyes misty.
— I failed you, Dad, he whispered softly to the air.
— I broke the promise I made by your deathbed.