*Mike_
The classroom smelled the same—chalk, old books, and boredom pretending to be discipline.
Mike leaned back in his chair, pen resting idle between his fingers as Mr. Coleman droned on about how cellular respiration takes place,and its relationship to photosynthesis.
He caught fragments of the lesson, enough to nod when needed, but his mind kept drifting.
Too many faces.
Too many smiles.
Everywhere he looked, people were sneaking glances at him—some curious, some relieved, some downright excited. He wasn't sure how to feel about it.
'So this is what I missed all that long,' he thought.
The bell finally rang, sharp and liberating.
"Mike Harrison," Mr. Coleman called before anyone could move. "Follow me to my office."
A few heads turned. Whispers followed.
Mike closed his book, slung his bag over his shoulder, and followed the man out.
Mr. Coleman's office was small but alive—trophies lining the shelves, framed photos of past teams, the faint smell of sweat and polish. Basketball posters clung to the walls like badges of honor.
The coach folded his arms, studying Mike for a long moment.
"I'll be honest," he said. "I was starting to worry of your disappearance."
Mike offered a small smile. "Sorry, sir."
Coleman waved it off and reached into a drawer, pulling out a glossy brochure and placing it on the desk.
INTERSCHOOL BASKETBALL GAMES — THIS TERM.
"You've been gone," Coleman continued, "and the team fell apart. Lost its spark and spine. Practice attendance dropped. Motivation waned and faded."
He met Mike's eyes. "You were the glue, you know. And, the best captain."
Mike's chest tightened—not with pride, but responsibility.
"But now that you're back I'm much delighted and relieved," the coach said, voice firm but hopeful, "I want you to put things in order, Captain."
A pause.
Then a faint smile. "The alpha's returned, right?"
Mike smiled but didn't answer.
I'm counting on you."
Mike picked up the brochure, nodding once.
"I won't let you down, Sir."
"I know you won't."
"Nice day Coach," Mike said turning to leave.
" You too Captain."
---
The hallway was chaos.
Lockers slammed. Laughter echoed. Shoes squeaked against the floor. Mike barely made it three steps before a familiar voice boomed.
"Well look who rose from the dead."
It was none other than Big Sam.Mike turned just in time to be pulled into a crushing hug.
"Man," Sam said, clapping his back. "It's good to have you back."
They were the same height, but Sam had bulked up—muscle stacked on muscle. Mike, by contrast, was lean, solid, quietly strong.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Sam announced theatrically, spinning toward the crowd, "Pacific Crest High's king has returned. Put your hands together for His Majesty—Mike Harrison!"
Someone clapped.
Then another.
Then the hallway erupted.
Cheers. Whistles. Laughter. Applause spreading like wildfire.
Mike couldn't help it. He smiled.
He raised his hands, trying to calm them, but before the noise could fade, three boys appeared at the far end of the hall, wearing colorful vests and basketball shorts. Each carried a ball.
And in the middle—
Rockie.
"Hey, Mr. Captain!" Rockie shouted.
Another roar.
Rockie sprinted forward, dribbling as he ran, then launched the ball toward Mike.
Instinct took over.
Mike dropped his books, leapt, caught the ball mid-air, slammed it to the floor. It bounced once. Twice.
He grabbed it, jumped—and dunked into nothing,but an imagined basketball ring.
The imaginary rim felt real.
The hall went insane with celebration.
Rockie and the others rushed him, arms wrapping around shoulders, laughter exploding between them.
Mike looked around at the faces—friends, teammates, strangers—and lifted his hands.
"Alright, alright," he said, voice steady. "I've got nothing fancy to say."
The crowd leaned in.
"But yeah…" He grinned. "It's good to be back. Who's the king?"
"CAPTAIN MIKE....! CAPTAIN MIKE....!"
The bell rang.
---
Lunch came quieter than he expected.
Mike sat alone at a cafeteria table, poking at his food. He'd arrived early; most students were still in line or drifting in.
Then he felt it.
That strange pull again.
Like someone had just stepped into a space that had always belonged to him.
A girl sat at the table across from him, tray full—rice noodles, stew. Dark hair. Calm posture. Unaware of him watching.
His chest tightened.
Why do I feel like I know her?
She looked up.
Their eyes met.
The world stalled.
No way.She looks like...
Suddenly,she smiled and waved.
Mike froze.
Why does she feel like the girl from my dreams?
Before he could respond, someone stepped into his line of sight.
"Hey, Mike."
Rockie dropped his tray beside him. Ruksy followed, sliding into the seat with practiced ease.
"Oh come on," Mike muttered. "Perfect timing."
"Took you long enough," Ruksy said, smiling.
"Sorry I've been busy." He replied before stuffing a spoonful of noodles in his mouth.
Rockie snorted. "Thank goodness you are back.We were waiting for you."
Mike took a drink of water. "Let me guess. Basketball?"
"Nope," Ruksy said flatly. "The other you."
Mike choked.
"The what?"
"Your oceanic self." She added.
Silence.
Mike stared at them. "My other me... My oceanic self... I could really use a precise and conscise explanation right now."
Rockie facepalmed. Ruksy sighed and reached into her shirt pocket, pulling out a folded paper.
"Here," she said, placing it in front of him, "This might help you remember."
Mike stared at it, chewing his food slowly.
"You can choose not to unfold it if you want," Rockie teased noticing his hesitation.
However, Mike took it and unfolded it.
He studied it. Then frowned.
"…So," he said slowly, turning it toward them, "what is this in simple words?"
Ruksy slammed both hands on the table.
"Damnit!"
She stood and walked off, untouched food left behind.
"Ruksy—wait!" Rockie hurried after her.
Mike sat there, confused, the paper still in his hand.
He glanced back at the table across from him.
The girl was gone.
He finished his food quickly, grabbed his bottle, and left.Behind him, the paper remained.
Maya stopped as she passed the table.
Two full plates. One folded sheet of paper
She picked it up and opened it.
A pencil-drawn figure stared back at her—a man with a fish tail, trident in hand. A red heart emoji sketched beside it.
Maya smiled.
"So that's what this is all about," she murmured.
"Interesting. Very interesting "
...To Be Continued.....