7:42 a.m.
The train on Line 3 was so packed we were squeezed like sardines in a tin.
My name is Eliot. I'm twenty-five, from a quiet mountain town, just another office worker—a content planner at a media company. Until this morning, my life was nothing special. Long hours, endless overtime, no real social life. I'd been fed empty promises by my boss, brushed off by coworkers, and tangled in all the fake, shallow kindness this city thrived on. To anyone born and raised in Asteria, I was nothing but an outsider.
Then I woke up today.
And everything changed.
Small, dark words started appearing right in front of my eyes, floating softly over everything I looked at. It wasn't a system notification. It wasn't a hallucination. It felt like it had always been there, a quiet, hidden layer of my sight.
[Breakfast coffee: optimal temperature. Remaining freshness: 8 minutes.]
[Man in suit ahead: growing impatience. Remaining duration: 4 minutes.]
I stared in shock the entire ride.
As the train pulled into my stop, I looked up—and witnessed the strangest, most brutally honest moment of my life.
My ex-girlfriend, Chloe, stood right in front of me. She wore a delicate dress and a soft, regretful smile. "Eliot," she said sweetly. "I've been thinking… I made a mistake. Can we give it another try?"
People around glanced our way, no doubt picturing a sweet, romantic reunion.
But I saw the truth. Staring at the glowing words above her head, my chest went cold.
[Chloe's affection for you: 0 seconds | EXPIRED]
[Fake tenderness: remaining performance time: 2 minutes 11 seconds]
[True motive: Borrowing money | Remaining patience: 37 seconds]
I fell quiet for a moment, then took a small step back. "No. It's over."
The softness on Chloe's face froze instantly. Shock flashed in her eyes, quickly masked by a hurt expression. "How can you be so cold… I really am sorry."
I didn't say a word.
The text above her shifted, counting down slowly.
[Disguise breaking: 10… 9… 8…]
By the time the doors slid open, she could no longer keep up the act. She rolled her eyes, turned, and walked away without even pretending to be gentle.
Standing there, I felt an unexpected lightness.
Before, I never understood why people pretended to care when they didn't, why they spoke with such sincerity while only using you. Now I understood. All their kindness was simply expired.
As I walked out of the station, my coworker Jake clapped me on the shoulder, grinning like we were close friends. "Eliot, this project is a sure win! The boss said your bonus is gonna be huge!"
I glanced up—first at Jake, then at our boss walking past.
[Jake's promise: EXPIRED]
[Boss's empty promises: PERMANENTLY INVALID]
I only nodded calmly. "Mm."
Jake blinked, clearly confused by my cold response.
Once, I would've believed him.
Not anymore.
At the base of the office building, a calico stray cat huddled in the corner, watching me shyly. She'd shown up three months ago, skittish and defensive. But I'd fed her quietly, every day, for over a month. Slowly, she stopped fearing me.
I knelt down and held out my hand gently.
She hesitated, then inched closer, brushing her soft head against my fingertip.
A single line appeared in my vision.
[Kitten's trust in you: PERMANENTLY VALID]
A soft breeze brushed past. For the first time all morning, I smiled.
The cruelest joke of this world, I realized, was simple:
Humans gave kindness that was temporary, performative, and quick to expire.
But a cat?
It gave forever.
I stood and looked up at the towering office building. Glass walls reflected hundreds of people rushing inside. Above every single one, an invisible expiration date hung quietly in the air.
Sincerity is rare.
Expiration is normal.
And from today on…
I would only hold onto things that never expire.