Imagine this: Alex is perched on his perfectly made bed, like keeping everything spotless is his way of controlling the whirlwind inside him. The room's small, with an old wooden desk covered in scattered books some open, some closed. Right in the middle of this organized chaos, his phone lights up with study notifications that he's blatantly ignoring. The walls are plastered with posters of fictional heroes, probably the kind of inspiration he desperately needs right now. The air smells faintly of lavender and pine calming, sure, but it feels out of place given the tension practically radiating off him.
He's chewing his breakfast with this weirdly calm expression, his damp hair plastered to his forehead from a recent shower. Then, just as casually as you please, he looks straight at you , yeah, you, the reader. His hazel eyes glint with that kind of sarcastic edge that makes you feel like he's fully aware you're watching.
"So, as you've probably guessed…" he starts, his voice laced with mockery. "Apparently, I put on quite the show… or so they say." He pauses, smirking like he's halfway between regretting something and laughing about it. "But that crazy hag…" He cuts himself off, and for a second, you're holding your breath, waiting for him to finish. But instead, he just takes a deep breath, like whatever he was about to say doesn't matter or maybe it matters way too much.
And now you're wondering, Who the hell is this 'crazy hag'? Could he be talking about that obnoxious professor from the committee? Yeah, probably. , who could be, except her?, But Alex doesn't seem interested in explaining further. He just shifts his gaze like he's trying to dodge the memory altogether.
"Anyway," he says, running a hand through his still-damp hair, "I've got this evaluation battle coming up. Against one of the professors." His tone is nonchalant, but there's an edge to it, like he's downplaying the whole thing. "No idea who it's gonna be."
He says it casually, like pretending not to care will somehow make it true. But you're not buying it. Is he nervous? Or is this just his way of coping? Either way, you can't help but feel like things are about to get messy.
"But it's fine," he adds, flashing a grin so fake you're almost insulted. "I'll wipe the floor with them, no problem." He laughs, but his eyes dart away, like he's already picturing how wrong this could go.
Then, suddenly, he smiles again. this time, it feels genuine. "I am the main character of this story, after all," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. And for a second, you almost believe him. But then, just as quickly, he whips his head toward you, locking eyes like he's challenging you to argue.
"But I have no idea what that damn writer has planned."
There it is—the twist. Any sense of control you thought you had? Gone. Is the writer going to throw him into another ridiculous situation? You can't help but wonder as Alex's expression shifts. "Let's just hope they don't pull any more surprises on me… again," he mutters, sounding less like a warning and more like a plea.
He starts pacing around the room, fiddling with the books on his desk without actually looking at them. His fingers skim over open pages until he flops back onto the bed, leaning against the wall. "Sometimes I wonder…" he says softly, like he's letting you in on a secret, "does the writer even care that I have my own feelings?"
And suddenly, you're questioning everything. Are you just a reader? Or have you somehow become part of this?
Alex catches your reaction, raising an eyebrow with a mischievous glint. "I wonder if you'll stick around till the end," he says, his tone teasing but laced with something deeper.
He waves his hand dismissively, like he's done talking about anything serious. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he grins. "Alright, let's play a game." He doesn't wait for you to agree. Raising an eyebrow, he says, "I'm taking your silence as a yes."
He gets up, walking to a nearby drawer and opening it with the kind of slowness that makes you wonder if he's trying to mess with you. As he rummages through it, random stuff—pens, notebooks—spills onto the floor. Then, out of nowhere, he lets out this triumphant yell. "Got it!"
He holds up something small—a trinket, maybe? Whatever it is, the goofy laugh that follows is contagious. You can't help but smile, even as you're left wondering what the hell he's up to now.
Alex bounces back to the table, full of energy, and motions for you to join him. You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you're really ready to play along, but before you can second-guess yourself, you're already pulling a chair over and sitting down, diving headfirst into whatever weird game he's come up with now.
"You look confused," he says with that cheeky grin of his, like he can read your mind. "Don't worry, though. I got you covered."
He leans back in his chair, eyes sparkling with a weird mix of seriousness and curiosity, like he's about to drop some profound knowledge on you. He picks up a coffee cup from the table, looking at it like it holds the secret to life itself. Then he gestures toward you, like he's about to say something important. "Okay, let's do a little mental exercise. You got three choices: coffee, cake, or an orange."
He sets the coffee in front of you slowly, as if trying to build some kind of suspense, waiting for your curiosity to peak. "So, let's say you pick the coffee," he continues, looking at you intently with a faint smile. "You might think that's it, right? But nah, it's just the beginning of something way more complicated."
He leans in a bit, his eyes lighting up. "In the world of quantum mechanics, every choice you make doesn't cancel out the other ones. Choosing coffee? That's just one path. One timeline you're stepping into. But when you made that choice, the cake and the orange were still there. Different possibilities, just frozen for the moment."
He gestures around the room like he's pointing to invisible lines, tracing out different realities. "There could be a whole timeline where you went for the orange, and your life's a whole other story. It's not gone—it's just paused. And if you could somehow tap into those timelines, you'd find another version of yourself making those different choices."
Alex looks at you seriously now, watching your reaction. "The possibilities don't just disappear. They freeze. And somewhere, there's a version of you picking that orange instead of the coffee."
You're a little overwhelmed by the whole thing, trying to wrap your head around how one simple decision could mean so many different things. Alex can tell, and chuckles lightly.
"Imagine a huge web of choices, each decision opening up new possibilities. And in quantum mechanics, every possibility is real in some way, but the moment you choose, others freeze in place. You picked coffee? Well, in another world, maybe you went for the cake or the orange. Those versions of you are still out there, just waiting for their shot."
He pauses for a moment, studying you, and then hits you with one last line. "Every decision you make, no matter how small, creates a whole new set of timelines. Some are still there in the shadows, waiting to come to life."
"Got it?" he asks, his eyes narrowing like he's waiting for you to really understand. "Good. Remember that !."
____
Without missing a beat, Alex pulls out seven old-looking cards, placing them down on the table in front of you with an almost eerie level of care. The sound of the cards brushing against the wood is soft but feels oddly significant, like it's setting the stage for something bigger. He doesn't say anything at first, just watches you, his eyes glinting with that mix of curiosity and seriousness. The longer the silence drags on, the more you start to feel like something major is about to happen.
His fingers hover over the cards, almost like he can feel their energy. He moves his hand slowly, eyes locked on yours, the room suddenly feeling way heavier, like time is slowing down just for this moment.
"This isn't just a game," Alex says, his voice lower now, all traces of humor gone. You can tell he's serious—dead serious. "This matters." He gestures at the cards, his fingers dancing over them with purpose. "Each card represents a different fate. A possibility that's been hiding in the shadows. You can't predict which one's the right one, just like those probabilities I was talking about. It's all down to luck."
The table feels rough under your fingers when you reach for it, solid and cold, like the moment itself is frozen in time. Alex just watches you, like he's waiting for you to make the first move.
He leans forward, his voice still low but now with a hint of something more challenging in it. "All you gotta do is pick one card. But remember..." He pauses, like he's letting the weight of his words settle in. "...once you pick, there's no going back. Not for me, not for you. The only one who knows what happens next is the writer."
( Guess what that's me!)
His hands freeze over the cards, leaving them untouched. He breathes slowly, like everything is building to this single moment. The floor creaks as you shift in your seat, the anticipation in the air thickening. The room feels like it's holding its breath, waiting for you to make your choice.
"The card you choose will change the course of the story." Alex leans back, his chair creaking slightly under his weight, giving you a moment to absorb his words. His expression remains unreadable, but the glint in his eyes speaks volumes—there's something more here, something hidden, and you sense that the stakes are far greater than just a game. "Are you ready?"
A strange tension builds within you, a sensation that this decision is more than just a casual choice. Before you lie the face-down cards, but they feel like something much more. They're not mere pieces of paper—they're pathways to uncharted futures, frozen moments, each one leading to an alternate reality. You can feel it in the air, thick with the weight of what's to come.
Slowly, you extend your hand toward the cards, each one trembling slightly beneath your fingertips. The rough texture of the paper hums with an inexplicable energy, as if each card holds a secret, a possibility that's just waiting to be revealed. The room feels heavier, the silence deafening, save for the thudding of your heart in your chest.
Alex remains still, his eyes locked on your every movement. There's a quiet urgency in the air, as if time itself is holding its breath, waiting for you to make your decision. You can feel his gaze like a pressure on your back, but you don't dare look away. Every inch closer to the cards feels like it could tip the balance of reality itself.
When your fingers finally brush against one card and pull it free, there's a strange pulse, a soft vibration that runs through it, as if the card itself were alive, alive with the weight of countless possible futures. The paper is cool now, its patterns shifting, each line telling a story you can't quite decipher, a puzzle still out of reach.
Alex leans forward, his hand extending to take the card from you. His fingers close around it with surprising gentleness, but you can see the tension in his movements, the way his knuckles tighten slightly. His eyes flicker with something—concern, maybe?—but it's gone as quickly as it appears, replaced with his usual calculating curiosity.
"Alright..." His voice is low, barely above a whisper, as he turns the card over, inspecting it with a steady gaze. "I don't know what this card will bring." His words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of uncertainty. "But now you must understand something important. The future we're stepping into—it's all on you. Everything that happens from here on out, it's tied to this one decision."
He sets the card down on the table with care, his fingers lingering on it just a moment too long, as if anchoring the moment to a reality that could slip away at any second. He leans back, the air between you thick with the gravity of his words. The room, already small, seems to shrink further, the walls pressing in as though the very space is reacting to the choice you've made.
"Now, you have to see this through," Alex continues, his voice barely audible, but filled with an unwavering seriousness. His gaze holds yours, and there's a burning intensity behind it—like he's challenging you to comprehend the magnitude of what you've just set in motion. "Whatever happens next... whatever consequences follow us... it's all your doing."
He pauses, his breath steadying, and then, in a moment that feels like it's suspended in time, he leans in close—so close that you can feel his breath on your face, the faint scent of bitter coffee mixing with the intensity of the moment. His words come softly, but they hit with a startling force.
"...If something bad happens to me, it'll be because of you."
Your pulse quickens. The weight of his words presses down on you, suffocating in its intensity. You're no longer sure where the story ends and you begin. Are you really just a reader, or have you crossed some invisible line, becoming a part of this narrative, its fate now intertwined with yours? Your thoughts race, unsure if this is all just a psychological game, or if, somehow, your decisions have become as real as Alex's.
The room feels colder now, as if the consequences of this moment are already taking root in the fabric of reality itself. Alex leans back in his chair, a small smile creeping onto his face, but it's not comforting. There's something in it—something enigmatic, something that leaves you with more questions than answers.
"You'll need to watch closely," he says, his voice low, yet filled with a strange sort of anticipation. "Moment by moment. Don't leave me alone now. This choice, it's not just yours anymore. It's ours." He lets that last word linger, carrying with it a heaviness that hangs in the air.
His smile fades into something more serious. "And remember... stories never end the way we expect them to."
The room, once still, now feels alive with an unseen force. The faint creak of the wooden floorboards under your feet echoes in the distance. In the corners of the room, a whisper of something unseen seems to stir, the faint scraping of paper against wood breaking the silence, though the sound feels distant, as though it comes from another time, another place.
Alex's eyes meet yours one last time, and in them, you see something—a challenge, a promise, and an uncertainty. It's as if everything is on the verge of unfolding, but you have no idea what will come next.
To Be Continued...