Ember sat on the edge of her bed long after the dormitory had fallen quiet, her feet barely touching the floor, her posture folded inward as though she were bracing herself against something unseen. Lily moved about the room softly, offering words meant to soothe, meant to explain, meant to mend—but Ember barely registered them. Whatever had settled inside her that day did not respond to comfort. It sat deep, heavy, unnameable, pressing against her ribs until breathing itself felt deliberate.
The cafeteria returned to her in fractured flashes.
The moment the air shifted.
The sudden wrongness of it all.
The way the world seemed to pause—as though reality had been suspended by invisible hands.
She had not imagined it. She knew that now.
Time had stalled, trapping everyone mid-motion, their laughter frozen in their throats, their bodies locked into place like mannequins abandoned in the middle of life. And yet Jasmine and her friends had moved freely among them, unbothered, almost amused. Ember could still feel the restraint in her own body, the unnatural paralysis that had seized her without warning. She had tried to scream, to move, to fight—but nothing obeyed her except her eyes, which had darted helplessly from face to face, searching for something human, something real.
Even now, her hand remained curled in the same awkward position it had been trapped in then, fingers stiff, nails immaculate and infuriatingly untouched. The perfection of them irritated her more than it should have. It felt cruel.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed her—not gently, but decisively—pulling her under before she could resist.
She found herself back in class.
Morning light spilled through the tall windows, bright and selective, illuminating only certain desks as though the sun itself had chosen favorites. A lecturer stood at the front of the room, speaking in a steady rhythm, though the words reached Ember dulled and distant, as if filtered through water. Lily sat beside her, leaning close, saying something Ember could not hear. Her lips moved too slowly, out of sync with the world.
Then Ember noticed him.
Daniel sat across from her.
He was dressed simply, stripped of all his usual excess—a white hoodie, joggers, a backpack slung casually over one shoulder. No entourage. No arrogance. Just him. He looked at her with an intensity that made her shift uncomfortably, and then, as though sharing a private understanding she did not yet possess, he smiled.
Ember frowned, unsettled.
That was when the voice reached her.
"You need to wake up."
It threaded itself through the air, soft and luminous, carrying a calm authority that sent a shiver through her spine.
She ignored it at first.
"Emberrr."
The sound returned, fuller now, wrapping around her like a gentle insistence.
She stood abruptly. "I need to find that voice."
Lily turned toward her, confusion creasing her brow. "What do you mean? We're in the middle of class."
But Ember was already walking away.
The hallway beyond the classroom stretched farther than it should have, bending subtly, impossibly. Doors lined the walls—doors that had never been there before. She reached for the nearest one and stepped through.
A child's room greeted her.
Toys lay scattered across the floor, forgotten mid-play. A small bed sat unmade, its sheets rumpled. Crayons littered a desk, and a single pen rested at the edge, as though abandoned in haste. The room hummed with a quiet, aching stillness that made Ember's chest tighten for reasons she could not explain.
She backed out, unsettled, and opened another door.
A hallway again—narrower now, dimmer. Several doors stood closed, silent and watchful, but one remained open, waiting.
She approached it slowly.
Inside was her dorm room.
Every detail was exact. Her walls. Her belongings. Her bed.
And herself.
Her body lay asleep on the bunk, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Ember's breath caught sharply as she stepped inside, the air thickening around her, charged, as though she had crossed into a space that existed between dreaming and waking.
She turned toward the mirror.
The reflection staring back at her was unmistakably hers—and yet entirely not.
Silver hair cascaded down her shoulders, luminous as moonlight. Her eyes burned a vivid gold, ancient and knowing, nothing like the soft brown she recognized. The clothes she wore shimmered faintly, woven of something unreal, something that did not belong to this world.
Her mouth fell open.
She lifted a hand.
The reflection mirrored the movement perfectly.
"Oh my God," Ember whispered. "This is insane."
The reflection smiled—warm, patient.
"Hello, Ember," she said softly. "I've been waiting for us to meet."
Ember's gaze snapped to her sleeping body, panic blooming fast and sharp.
"No—no, this is wrong. This has to be some kind of dream. Sleep paralysis. Something. Should I wake myself up? Should I—"
"Calm down," the girl interrupted gently. "There isn't much time."
Ember swallowed, her pulse loud in her ears. "What do you mean?"
"Daniel is in trouble," the girl replied. "And you are going to help him."
Ember shook her head, overwhelmed. "Who—what—are you?"
The reflection tilted her head, golden eyes kind. "I am you," she said. "Just… from another dimension."
"I don't understand," Ember whispered.
The girl's smile deepened, carrying both certainty and inevitability. "You will," she said. "Very soon."
The room trembled.
And Ember woke up laying in the same position— In the same bed.
In the same room.
Her eyes widened at the realization of it all—and something in her really began change.
————————————————————
Jasmine didn't knock on the boys' hostel door like someone who needed permission.
She arrived.
The elevator carried her to the highest floor—the penthouse where Daniel lived—late enough that the building had begun to quiet, late enough that she knew she wouldn't be wrong. She never was. Daniel was always here at this hour, restless, surrounded by noise and people, pretending not to think.
She wore a sheer, slit dress that clung to her like liquid shadow, cut high enough to demand attention but worn with the kind of ease that suggested she didn't need it. Her heels—golden, red-soled, impossibly high—clicked softly against the marble floor, balanced as if the laws of gravity bent for her alone.
The elevator ride had been brief, but long enough.
The boy who shared it with her stood too close by the end, eyes glassy, breath shallow, as though something in him had tilted off its axis. Jasmine barely spared him a glance.
"Low-energy humans don't excite me," she said aloud, more to herself than to him.
The doors slid open.
Heads turned.
Everyone knew who she was. Everyone knew where she was going.
The trap music thumped through the penthouse door before she even knocked.
Amal answered.
His gaze swept over her without shame, slow and appreciative. "Always unreal," he said, grinning.
She smiled back, sharp and practiced, her eyes lingering just long enough to unsettle him. "Always handsome," she replied smoothly. "Is Daniel here?"
Amal stepped aside. "Come in."
She did.
Daniel emerged from the hallway moments later, towel slung low around his waist, hair damp, rubbing his face as though he'd been dragged out of a thought he didn't want to name. When he saw her, his expression tightened.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. "I told you I'd call first."
For a split second, something like surprise flickered across her face.
Then she said his name.
"Daniel."
The effect was immediate.
His shoulders loosened. His breath stuttered. A faint pressure bloomed behind his ear, familiar and warm, like slipping back into a song he'd once loved too much.
She was standing closer now.
"I don't like how you've been treating me lately," she said softly. Her voice moved the way her body did—slow, deliberate, impossible to ignore. "Is it a crime for your girl to miss you?"
She stepped behind him, her hand brushing the back of his neck, her full bosom wrapping around him before her arms did.
Daniel closed his eyes. A daring temptation he knew too well.
"You'll always be my favorite, Jaz," he murmured, turning enough to take her hands, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "You know that."
He didn't look at his friends again.
"Leave us."
The door closed. The music dulled. The world narrowed.
Jasmine smiled.
Her eyes were too beautiful to resist, and her voice— To him sounded like music he couldn't turn off.
"I missed you Dannie." She whispered—-with the most erotic voice.
He couldn't help himself, he kissed her, she kissed back. Then they couldn't get their hands off each other. He threw her on the bed and they started kissing intensely.
And for a while, nothing else mattered.
Until the phone rang.
The sound cut through the haze like a blade.
Jasmine stiffened as Daniel reached for it, irritation flickering across her face as she leaned closer, murmuring something meant to pull him back under.
But the name on the screen stopped him cold.
Ember.
Whatever spell had been holding him loosened instantly. He straightened.
Jasmine frowned. "Can that wait?" she said lightly. "I need you focused."
Daniel didn't answer. He stepped away and called back.
No response.
The silence that followed was worse than the ringing.
A knot formed low in his chest.
Why would she call this late?
He stared at the phone, unease creeping in where desire had been moments before.
I hope she's okay.