The body dropped from the fifth floor, and an eerie silence followed. The figure was a male with long, greyish-black hair and pale skin, marred by dark spots. He wore a black tracksuit and was barefoot, eyes closed as he descended, accepting the fall as if it had already happened.
Witnessing this was a young woman with rectangular glasses, one scarlet eye visible, the other hidden beneath an eye patch. Her scarlet hair, tied in a loose ponytail, framed an African aesthetic that made her stand out effortlessly. She wore a long black dress and simple sandals, her form embodying elegance and quiet strength. Her eyes widened as she saw the man's inevitable descent, her heart racing and breath quickening. The water bottle in her hand slipped and fell, forgotten, as she sprinted toward his falling body.
"I can make it. I can make it. I can make it." The words looped in her mind, a desperate mantra to silence her fear.
But as she ran, the seconds elongated, stretching into what felt like endless moments, each step taking her further from him.
"I won't make it," she whispered inwardly, realizing she was too far away.
Just as he reached the ground, time…stopped.
"Only two?" murmured a voice, low and dispassionate, as if observing a half-complete scene. "Well, let's bring them in."
The moon above gleamed more brightly, its light intensifying until it erased all shadow, filling the scene with an impossible, otherworldly whiteness. The woman and the falling man were drawn into an ethereal realm, beyond the physical world they had known.
Time resumed just as the man should have hit the ground—only, he fell onto nothing.
The woman stumbled, her senses reeling as she adjusted to her surroundings. She scanned the area, taking in the unnatural whiteness stretching around her like a blank canvas. This world felt like Heaven—yet…not. She caught sight of him lying unconscious nearby and crouched beside him, slapping his cheek gently. He didn't stir. Her pulse steadying, she retrieved her bottle, opened it, and splashed water over his face.
"What…" he muttered, eyes opening blearily. The sensation of water barely registered as he took in the vast whiteness surrounding them. "Is this…death? Have I crossed over? It feels so quiet…so safe," he murmured, a faint relief in his voice. His eyes, dulled and unfocused, drifted across the white expanse.
"But why…why do I still feel this way? Why is there still pain?" His voice trembled, tears streaming down his face. After a moment, he looked up and noticed her, regarding him with concern. She remained silent, simply observing him.
"Who are you? Have you died, as I have?" he asked in a low, hoarse voice, void of curiosity. His heart had poured itself out—his failures, miseries, regrets—and this woman seemed, for whatever reason, a witness to it all.
"I don't know," she finally said, sitting beside him on the ground. "I saw you…and I just wanted to help you. And then…suddenly I was here."
A weak smile flickered over his face, though bitterness lingered in his tone. "Ironic, isn't it? A wish I made comes true with my death." He cast her a look that was both resigned and detached, barely acknowledging her attempt to help.
"I don't think we're dead," she replied, glancing around. "Otherwise, I'd be in Heaven, singing with angels in my own golden mansion, right?" She grinned slightly.
"Heaven? A place like that would never be for someone like me," he answered flatly, his eyes empty.
Silence fell between them.
"Why?" she asked quietly. "Why did you…"
"My life wasn't the life I wanted to live," he said, his voice devoid of hope.
She looked at him, waiting for him to say more, and finally, he continued, "I see it in your eye, too. That…tiredness. Behind that smile, you're just hanging on, aren't you? You're trying to convince yourself that you're not empty, that life is worth something. But deep down, you're just…surviving." His words were harsh but rang with a truth she couldn't ignore.
She turned to face him, looking deeply into his eyes. Everything he said resonated with her, yet she couldn't form a reply. All she could manage was a simple question: "What's your name?"
"Eoin," he replied, almost as if he'd forgotten his own identity. "And you?"
"Talia," she replied, glancing away as silence reclaimed the space between them.
Finally, he spoke again, a faint hint of curiosity breaking his tone.
"Could you tell me more about yourself?" he asked.
Talia simply looked at him, her gaze growing distant.
"Uhh, that's if you'd like to," he said.
"Well, we're not going anywhere, so I guess a little story won't hurt," she sighed softly, eyes drifting back to memories long hidden.
And so, Talia began to tell her story.