Everything was shaping up to be just another ordinary Sunday night in Paulo's simple life, if not for the fact that he was about to be expelled from university, evicted from his apartment for not paying rent, and, of course, watching his future prospects collapse in less than a week. "At least I'll have more time to work, hit the gym, and focus on my hobbies," he thought as he put his hands in his pockets, walking around the apartment.
The academic situation was what bothered him the most. He knew the dean wasn’t a big fan of his opinions, and the post he made on the university's social media—a fiery rant about the dictatorship that seemed to be slowly taking hold in the country—was the final straw. Sure, he could’ve chosen his words more carefully, but where was the fun in that?
His career was hanging by a thread, and the only thing left to do was attend the disciplinary hearing scheduled for Monday morning. "Nothing like starting the week with a good expulsion," he thought, laughing at his own misfortune.
The apartment situation wasn’t helping either. Little did he know, the dean was among those pushing for this change in the country, and, as the cherry on top, the landlord was related to her. It was as if the universe had decided that the theme of the week was "How to Screw Paulo Over in the Worst Possible Way."
However, not everything was lost. There was an invitation to a colleague's birthday party at a bar near the beach. And, if that wasn’t enough, the sky that night would put on a rare show: the comet of the century would be visible to the naked eye, even in the coastal city where he lived.
Paulo felt a little more optimistic about that, at least. Between cold beer, a starry sky, and maybe a nice chat with a hot bartender, the night couldn’t be that bad, right? Right?
Taking advantage of his last days in the apartment, Paulo decided to get ready early so he could snag an outdoor table at the bar. Without wasting time, he headed straight for the shower. The water from the showerhead sputtered lukewarm water with the same intensity the university provided support to its students: almost none. "Another thing to fix that'll never get fixed," he muttered.
Among the mess of scattered clothes and half-packed moving boxes, he grabbed an old, worn-out pair of jeans—probably the least stained he could find—and a black shirt still drying on the makeshift clothesline in the living room since the other one had fallen from the ceiling in the laundry room long ago.
As he got dressed, he turned on the TV to YouTube and started watching a live stream about the comet. The astronomy channel he followed had been broadcasting live since early in the day.
Something seemed off, though: the presenter, usually calm and focused, appeared nervous, almost shaky. “Is it the monetization issue again?” Paulo thought, paying little attention. He knew the new censorship guidelines and social media blockages were directly impacting content creators. The dictatorship not only controlled information but also drained the pockets of those trying to speak the truth.
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Finally ready, Paulo grabbed his phone—his trusty companion with its dying battery that had seen better days—and headed to the bar, which wasn’t far away. The 20-minute walk would be enough to clear his mind. The salty sea breeze from the nearby beach brought a refreshing sensation.
As he walked through the city streets, he noticed many people glued to their phones, their faces tense, as if they were waiting for bad news. He chalked the anxiety up to the political climate. "Everyone's on edge, there’s no escaping it. Either you support the dictatorship, or you live with that constant look of panic," he thought. Conversations on the streets revolved around nothing else; the optimists still believed something could stop the authoritarian tide, while the pessimists were already buying tickets to any country where the regime couldn’t reach.
When he arrived at the bar, a surprise: he managed to get an outdoor table, just as he wanted. And the sky was perfectly clear, a miracle considering the forecast had called for rain. Paulo looked up, marveling at the visible stars, and wondered how the comet would appear soon.
The waitress didn’t take long to approach. “What can I get for you?” she asked with a smile. Paulo ordered the largest draft beer they had, more for the price than for the thirst, and some appetizers to keep the hunger at bay while he waited for his friend. Before checking his phone, the TV on the bar's wall caught his attention as it broadcast news about the comet's arrival. “Interesting,” he muttered, raising an eyebrow. “How are they talking about the comet when, for weeks, all they’ve covered is politics and the ‘natural’ disasters sweeping the country?” It was as if the focus had suddenly shifted entirely.
“It looks like there are several fragments along with the comet that no one had seen before, and they might fall to Earth,” commented the waitress as she placed the glass on the table. Paulo was about to strike up a conversation, maybe even try his luck, but she had already moved on to another customer.
His luck seemed to have run out after scoring the table and the cold beer. All that remained was the sky and, perhaps, a chance to escape reality for a few hours.
He picked up his phone and started looking for more information about the comet. The traditional news channels were out of the question. The mainstream media was basically in the government’s pocket. Nothing like a bit of censorship to make everything more predictable, he thought with a hint of sarcasm.
But the astronomy channel was in his favorites. One click, and he was back on the live stream. That’s when Paulo realized the host’s nervousness had nothing to do with monetization or politics. What he was saying was far more serious: there was no doubt that fragments of the comet would hit Earth. It wasn’t a matter of “if,” but “when and where.”
At that moment, the appetizers arrived, and the sky above began to be ripped apart by bright objects speeding across the firmament. The screeching sound that accompanied the comet fragments' descent was deafening, and Paulo could feel the impact in the air as if the world around him was vibrating.
People started getting up from their tables, frightened, looking at the sky in panic. The waitress, who had come back near his table, grabbed his arm in sheer terror, her nails almost drawing blood from his skin. “What is this?” she screamed, as the sound of people shouting grew louder around them.
For a brief moment, Paulo smiled. Not because he was happy about the situation, of course, but because, even in the midst of chaos—with the problems at university, the impending eviction, and now meteors falling from the sky—the simple fact that someone was holding his arm gave him a strange sense of human connection, and the thought that he might still get lucky that night crossed his mind.
He had no idea that this would be the last normal night of his life. In fact, the last normal night for all of humanity!