The steam from the hot shower curled around me, blanketing the small bathroom in a foggy haze.
I let the water cascade over my shoulders, loosening my sore muscles. It should have been relaxing, but no amount of heat could quiet the restlessness in my chest. My mind churned, looping back to the same frustrating thought: my district win had already been forgotten.
A few students had greeted me earlier and offered a quick,
"Hey, congratulations on first place!" But their words felt hollow, overshadowed by the campus obsession with the daylight , eclipse and its supposed implications.
Everywhere I turned, people were talking about the alignment, trading theories, sharing research papers, and scrolling endlessly through NovaSphere posts. My achievement—something I had worked for tirelessly—had been eclipsed, swallowed whole by the frenzy of this cosmic distraction.
I reached for the soap, scrubbing at my arms with an urgency that betrayed my irritation. It wasn't just about the lack of recognition.
There was something deeper gnawing at me—the note in the mailbox, the cryptic warnings Yike had thrown my way, the uneasy feeling that the universe was shifting in a way I couldn't quite understand. And now, I couldn't even enjoy my win because of it.
As the water cooled, I turned off the faucet and stepped out, wrapping myself in a towel.
My thoughts turned to Zichen, who had promised to meet me at the library tomorrow after class.
At least he wasn't caught up in the hype—or so I hoped.
He'd been preoccupied earlier, but I couldn't blame him. Everyone seemed swept up in this tidal wave of speculation like we were living through the countdown to something monumental.
Drying my hair, I glanced toward my backpack, where the note remained folded inside the side pocket. Its presence felt like it was taking up more space than its thin, fragile paper should. Who was writing these? The question was relentless, looping through my mind like a song stuck on repeat.
There were moments when I thought it might be a prank—a childish attempt to scare me or mess with my head. But the timing of the notes felt too deliberate.
They appeared just as the Eclipse Shift gained traction online, and their cryptic warnings aligned too closely with the theories people were throwing around. Could someone be trying to send me a message? Or was this all some elaborate joke?
My thoughts turned to Yike. He was the obvious culprit, wasn't he? He'd always been cold, distant, and quick to challenge me whenever he could. Ever since I beat him for the last 5 years at every track meet, our rivalry had taken a sharper edge. If anyone wanted to make me feel paranoid, it was him.
But as much as I wanted to pin the blame on Yike, a voice in the back of my head warned me against jumping to conclusions. What if I was wrong? What if he had nothing to do with this? What if I was letting my insecurities twist the truth?
I sighed, pulling on my pajamas and curling up on the bed. The moonlight streamed through my curtains, casting long shadows across the room. No matter how hard I tried to dismiss the notes, they refused to let go. It felt like they were burning a hole in my mind, demanding answers I didn't have.
Maybe I was overthinking everything. Maybe it was just a prank, and I was letting my paranoia get the better of me. But even as I tried to convince myself, I couldn't shake the feeling that something bigger was happening—something I couldn't yet see.
The Celestial event loomed over everything, its presence almost tangible. The way people talked about it, you'd think it was the end of the world. And maybe, in a way, it was.
The end of the world as we knew it, anyway.
Sleep didn't come easily that night. I tossed and turned, the weight of the day pressing down on me. The note, the eclipse, the silence about my win—it all felt interconnected, like puzzle pieces waiting to be put together. But the picture they formed was still a mystery.
Then the sound of birds chirping outside my window pulled me from a restless sleep.
I blinked against the soft morning light streaming through the curtains, my body heavy with fatigue.
'Did I even sleep?'
My dreams had been a mess of fragmented images: the glowing moon, a darkened sky, and an indistinct blue figure holding what seemed like papers. Even now, the memory of it lingered, just out of reach, leaving me unsettled.
I sat up, my body aching as though I'd run a marathon in my sleep. Rubbing my temples, I tried to shake off the haze clouding my thoughts. Today was supposed to be normal—or as normal as things could be when the whole world seemed consumed by the upcoming event on Friday.
The smell of brewing tea wafted through the house, a reminder that life, at least for some of us, carried on as usual. I dragged myself out of bed, throwing on some comfortable clothes before heading to the kitchen. Grandma was at the counter, slicing fruit with her usual precision.
"Morning, Taryn," Grandma said without looking up. "Sleep well?"
I hesitated, debating whether to tell the truth. "Not really."
Grandpa sat at the table, flipping through the newspaper. Peered at me over the top of his reading glasses, his brow furrowing.
"You look like you barely slept at all. What's on your mind, Taryn?"
"Just... stuff. School, the race. Everyone's so worked up about it."
Grandma set the knife down, turning her full attention to me. "You've seemed distracted lately. Is there something you're not telling us?"
'Us? or is there something everyone's not telling me?'
Instead of responding, I took a sip of tea, letting the warmth calm my nerves.
"I'm fine," I said finally, forcing a smile. "Just tired."
Grandma didn't look convinced, but she didn't press further. Grandpa, however, leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful.
"You know," he said, folding the newspaper neatly, "sometimes it helps to talk things out. Even if you think it's nothing, getting it off your chest can make a world of difference."
I nodded. Then the sound of the front door opening and closing broke the quiet, followed by the unmistakable voices of Devon and Jia.