The phone buzzed once more.
Rony's brows furrowed—not out of fear, but the kind of tension you feel when something doesn't match the rhythm of your day. He glanced at the screen and saw a new message.
But it wasn't the reply he expected.
> "If you were given a chance to live in that world... what would you do?"
Rony blinked. The words didn't register at first. He stared at them, half-lost in the whirring hum of the air conditioning and Ariana clicking her mouse across the room.
"…What?" he muttered to himself.
The message didn't make sense. He leaned back in his seat, pulling the phone closer as if proximity would offer clarity.
His lips curled slightly, not in amusement—more in disbelief. "What the f—"
He cut himself off mid-curse, caught between a scoff and a nervous laugh. His fingers hovered above the screen, and then he let out a low sigh, rubbing his temple.
"Bro, what are you even talking about…"
His thoughts spiraled. It wasn't like the author to say something like this. In fact, it was the first time the man ever directly messaged him—and now he's throwing hypothetical fantasy crap at him?
For a split second, Rony's expression turned serious. He squinted at the screen and whispered, "Wait… is he okay? Mental health issues?"
Rony scratched the back of his neck. He hated this feeling—caring about someone he couldn't do anything for. "I mean… he's my favorite author. But this? This is weird."
He sighed again and rested his head against the chair's backrest, staring at the pale ceiling of the control room.
After a long pause, he thumbed back a reply:
> "Not sure. Sorry to say, I'm on duty right now. I'll message you when I get home."
He nodded to himself and exhaled.
"Yeah. That's polite. I'm still a good guy. No need to make it weirder than it already is."
With that, he locked the phone and tucked it aside. The monitors in front of him blinked—one showing the escalator, another the lobby, one fixed on the kid's play area where laughter echoed in distant intervals. Ariana remained quiet beside him, focused on her logs.
The world, once again, was as still as it had been before the message.
Rony leaned forward and rested his chin on his knuckles. The silence was heavier now. Almost like something had shifted in his gut—not quite fear. Not quite wonder.
Maybe a premonition.
Time passed. Quietly. Normally.
Lunch hour rolled in with the slow stretch of light across the tiled floor.
Rony reached into his backpack, pulled out the sandwich he'd brought from home, and lazily unwrapped the foil. The first bite was bland—but edible. He didn't expect much. Food, to him, was just fuel these days.
Out of habit, he checked his phone again.
No new message from the author.
Instead, a notification from his little sister popped up:
> "Hey, I'm back home. What do you want for dinner?"
He smiled unconsciously—his shoulders relaxed, his breath eased. Without missing a beat, he typed back:
> "Something light. How was school?"
Her reply came fast. That was like her.
> "It's okay. Also, get counseling. Your mental health is getting worse."
Rony froze for a second mid-chew. His lips curled downward slightly. Not a frown. Not even a sadness, really. Just a silent recognition that her words hit close to home.
His gaze dropped to the phone, staring at her message.
He swallowed the bite.
"Ah... right. I do murmur things, don't I?" he said to himself.
Then, just as he said it, he caught himself—and blinked slowly.
"…Wait. Who the hell am I talking to?"
His eyes flicked left and right, like he was checking to make sure no one overheard him. Ariana was still there, eyes locked on the screen, headphones in.
He turned back to his sandwich, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Great. I'm monologuing. Out loud. Again."
He typed a quick reply:
> "Yeah, okay. Any recommendations?"
Her response came after a beat:
> "My friend's dad helped me book a beat counselor. The appointment's two days later. Also, don't eat outside. Come straight home."
Rony read that message twice.
His heart didn't skip. It settled. Like a warm hand pressed gently against a bruised shoulder.
He exhaled softly and typed:
> "Okay, ma'am."
She answered back almost instantly.
> "Yes."
With a heart emoji.
Rony chuckled lightly under his breath.
"Bossy little gremlin…"
He put the phone aside and looked out through the narrow window of the chamber—sunlight filtered in, soft and clean. People moved through their day, completely unaware of the quiet battle behind someone else's smile.
He sat there in silence, finishing his lunch, earbuds still tucked in the pocket of his jacket, untouched. No music needed right now.
The message from the author lingered in the background of his mind like a line from an unfinished poem. And though he tried not to think about it, some part of him was waiting.
Waiting for something else.
Something… unusual.