VOLUME I: Inside Our Heads
The room looked like it had been split between two different people.
One half was almost aggressively tidy. The floor shone. The bed was made with military precision. Shelves stood in straight, rigid rows: books lined up by size, boxes stacked like they'd signed a contract and were terrified of breaking it.
The other half looked like it had been hit by a small academic apocalypse.
The desk had lost the war first. A laptop sat in the center like a trapped animal, surrounded by open notebooks, creased worksheets, highlighters with fading ink, and a cup that had long since retired from being coffee. Whatever was inside it had given up on being a liquid sometime last week.
Hao slumped in his chair and stared at the laptop screen until the words blurred into grey lines.
His eyebags felt carved into his skull. Every blink dragged sand across his eyes.
Exams.
Mock tests.
Boxing sessions.
Gym workouts.
Meal prep.
All the "productive hobbies" he used as a shield against late-night thoughts.
Everything piled up in his head until it felt like a wall about to collapse in slow motion.
I can't even imagine what happens after this, he thought, not for the first time. Job. Rent. License. Bills. Same grind, different shape. Is any of this even worth it?
The thought felt too big for a body this tired.
He exhaled slowly, a long, emptying breath that drained him more than it calmed him.
Whatever. I'll deal with that tomorrow.
He snapped the laptop shut and pushed a few notebooks out of his line of sight so they wouldn't be the last thing he saw before passing out. Then he dragged himself to the bed.
The mattress felt colder than usual. Softer too. The kind of softness he'd been too wired to notice lately.
This time, there was no tossing and turning. No scrolling. No staring at the ceiling, replaying the same worries in different flavors.
Just one long exhale.
Then he dropped straight into sleep.
When he opened his eyes again, his room was gone.
Voices reached him first. Laughter. The low thud of footsteps. Something crackled nearby, carrying the smell of pine and smoke.
He blinked.
A forest clearing stretched in front of him, silvered by moonlight. Trees formed a loose circle around a wooden cabin a short distance away. Its windows glowed faintly, yellow light leaking into the dark.
People moved toward it, arms full of bags and boxes, their voices overlapping as they talked over each other.
For a second, none of it made sense.
Then something in his mind shifted, like a puzzle piece forced into place.
…This isn't home.
So where the hell am I?