"I'm working these long hours, no payday in sight,

But the taxman's laughing, he's living the high life tonight…tonight…TONIGHT!"

Peter's voice cracked on the high note as he sang along to the radio. He shook his head, baffled. What was he doing? Singing? And what even was this song? "Taxman" by Public Transport—one of those iconic bands from the sixties, the Beatles' biggest rivals. They’d shaped countless musicians over the years, but Peter couldn't recall ever being a fan, yet he still knew every word to the song.

The old Peter resurfaced, his teeth grinding in frustration. He didn’t sing. He was appointed by the President himself for this mission, not some part-time karaoke enthusiast... Was he?

The music cut out abruptly as his phone rang through the car’s intercom. Peter glanced at the screen, smiled without thinking, and hit the answer button on the steering wheel.

“Ronnie!” he greeted, exaggerating his voice like an old drinking buddy greeting a friend.

"Peter, where the hell are you?" Ronnie’s voice rang out, urgent and confused. "There’s only 30 minutes till the Year 11 exams start. You’re supposed to be invigilating, mate. What’s going on?"

Peter’s stomach knotted. He’d forgotten. Completely. The realization hit him like a 10 year old’s scolding from his mother—he wasn’t just chasing a world-altering mystery; he was still a teacher, responsible for those kids. His old life hadn’t evaporated. It was still clinging on.

"I..." Peter hesitated, caught between the mystery unraveling before him and the duties he still owed. He couldn’t abandon his responsibilities, his students. "I’m on my way," he finally said, quieter than intended.

"Good. Hurry up, man. You’ve got seventy-odd students waiting. Don’t leave me alone with them!" Ronnie’s voice softened with a laugh, but there was concern in his tone. "See you soon."

Peter ended the call and slowed the car. He glanced at the address for Paul Brettell, then checked his watch. There was no time to pursue Brettell now. Gritting his teeth, Peter turned the car around and headed back toward the school—toward his life of marriage, friends, and normalcy. The sense of duty he had to both lives, as real and as strong as each other, he yelled as another song blasted from the car stereo.

----------------------------------------

The hallways of Roseberry Secondary School were filled with the usual bustle of people rushing about to their next class, but Peter’s mind was far from settled. He entered the exam room, the tension in his chest still tight. The students were already seated, exam papers spread out before them, while Ronnie, looking slightly frazzled, stood at the front.

"Just in time," Ronnie quipped, raising an eyebrow as Peter slipped into the room. "Thought you were going to ditch me."

Peter forced a smile. "Sorry, something came up."

"Yeah? Like what?" Ronnie asked as they walked down the aisles, checking on the students. "Jess has been talking to Claire. You know how they are. Said you left for a run before the sun was up and hadn’t seen you since. She’s worried, man."

Peter shook his head, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. "Later. We're still on for lunch, right?"

Ronnie nodded firmly, then turned to help a student with a raised hand.

What's going on? Even Peter didn’t fully know. But he did know he could trust Ronnie; they'd been friends for years, the kind of friend who’d have your back no matter what. Maybe Ronnie could help him make sense of things, or at least listen while Peter tried to sort out his jumbled thoughts.

The invigilation dragged on, but Peter found it hard to concentrate. His mind kept drifting back to Paul Brettell, the equations, and the shifting memories that plagued him. But each time his thoughts wandered too far, he'd force himself to focus. These kids—quietly scribbling away, deep in concentration—they were real.

Casey had made such strides over the last few months, she’d really dug in and worked her socks off. Peter watched as she wiped her brow, turning the page of the exam over, instantly ticking a box like the answers were instinctively there. And Peter looked over at Johnny. He’d lost his father earlier this year—he remembered finding him in the restroom sobbing. It broke Peter’s heart, comforting him. Listening to how he’d found the body, overdosed from prescription drugs. A lump formed in Peter’s throat, not of sadness by admiration for this young man.These students were his responsibility, and for the moment, they kept him tethered to reality.

To this reality.

----------------------------------------

After the exam, Peter and Ronnie headed to their usual spot—the Cozy Café they often visited for lunch. The smell of fresh scones and coffee wafted through the air, but Peter couldn’t enjoy it. His stomach was still knotted, tension buzzing in the back of his mind. Everything outside this normal bubble of life—his job, his marriage—felt distant, like he was an observer watching his own life from the sidelines.

As they sat down, Ronnie studied him closely, a look of quiet concern in his eyes.

"So," Ronnie said, leaning back in his chair. "What’s going on with you? You’ve been... off."

Peter hesitated, stirring his coffee with deliberate slowness. How could he even begin to explain the madness that had been brewing inside his head? The flashes of a life he remembered living, but didn’t belong to. The strange certainty that something—something big—was wrong with the world.

"It’s complicated," Peter finally said, still staring into his coffee. "I’ve been... seeing things. Memories. But they’re not quite mine. Or they are, but they don’t fit. It’s like reality’s changing, but I’m the only one noticing."

Ronnie raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "What are you talking about, mate? Memories? Like hallucinations?"

Peter shook his head, frustrated. He needed to make Ronnie understand. But how?

"No, not hallucinations. More like... things that used to be true, but aren’t anymore."

Ronnie gave a short laugh, though it wasn’t unkind. "Peter, you’ve been under a lot of stress. You’ve got a wife, a job, kids depending on you at school. Maybe you're just burnt out."

Peter took a deep breath. How can you tell someone the grass should be green when all they can see is blue? "I can prove it."

Ronnie’s skepticism deepened, but he leaned forward. "Alright then, prove it. What are you talking about?"

Peter hesitated for a moment, then a memory from his other life came to him—a poem he had memorized during one long night in his old world, studying literature as a way to escape the pressures of his work..

He looked Ronnie dead in the eye and recited the first verse of The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe:

"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."

Ronnie chuckled, clearly impressed by the smooth delivery. "Alright, that’s good, Pete. How long did it take you to come up with that? You practicing your poetry skills now too?"

Peter blinked, his heart sinking. The Raven didn’t exist here. Not in this version of reality. But Ronnie had dismissed it like it was just something Peter had written.

"No, no," Peter said, leaning in, his voice growing more urgent. "It’s not mine. That’s a famous poem by Edgar Allan Poe —The Raven. In my other life, everyone knew it. You would have known it, too."

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Ronnie raised an eyebrow, his amusement fading. "Edgar Allan who?"

Peter’s throat tightened. "He’s... he’s a poet. From the 1800s. But he doesn’t exist here."

Ronnie’s smile vanished, replaced by confusion. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Alright, mate, say I believe you—say there’s some reality where that poem exists, and this Edgar guy is a household name. But it’s just a poem. People write stuff all the time."

Peter shook his head, feeling desperation clawing at him. He needed something else, something bigger. His mind raced, trying to think of another example—something undeniable.

"What about—" Peter paused, then a thought struck him. "What about the LIGO discovery? The gravitational waves they detected, the proof of Einstein’s theory of general relativity? It happened just a few years ago in my world. Groundbreaking stuff."

Ronnie’s brow furrowed. "Gravitational waves? You’re losing me, Pete."

"They proved Einstein was right about space and time being linked. You could... you could bend space! They detected the ripples in spacetime when two black holes collided! It was all over the news in my world."

Ronnie gave him a long, silent look. Then he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Okay... so, what you’re telling me is you’re remembering a bunch of things that... just don’t exist here?"

Peter nodded, feeling hope stir inside him. "Exactly. I’m not crazy, Ronnie. I swear, something is different. Things are missing, people’s lives have changed."

Ronnie sighed, his hand massaging his chin. "Mate, it sounds like you’ve been under a ton of pressure. Stress can make you think of all kinds of things. But poems and gravitational waves? Come on, listen to yourself."

Peter fell silent, hearing Ronnie’s words. He doubted he’d believe this tale either if their positions were reversed.

"Okay," Peter said after a long pause. "What about graphene?"

"Graphene?" Ronnie squinted, a smirk forming. "What’s that, a fruit or something?"

Peter smiled, knowing he had something real. Something that would show Ronnie he had knowledge beyond what should exist here. "In this life, there’s been no discovery of graphene. But trust me, when I show you, it’s going to blow your mind."

Ronnie leaned forward again, intrigued. "Alright, Pete."

"Okay, so graphene is 200 times stronger than steel but incredibly lightweight," Peter began, his tone brimming with enthusiasm. "It’s so thin it’s only a single atom thick. Despite its size, it's a better conductor of electricity than copper, allowing electrons to flow through it at almost light speed. And it’s 10 times better at conducting heat than metals like aluminum, nearly transparent, letting through 97% of light."

Ronnie chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Is that all? And you're going to show me this miracle material right here? Come on, man, I'm ready."

Peter smiled. He remembered reading about graphene, how simple it was and how everybody had access to it. Peter pulled out a mechanical pencil from his shirt pocket. He clicked the top a few times until the tip of graphite extruded, then looked at a confused Ronnie.

“Finish your coffee and follow me. I need a few things from your classroom mate and then I can show you. If you are not impressed, beers are on me for life.”

Ronnie, swigged back the rest of his coffee, and stood straight up. “You did just say for life right?”

----------------------------------------

Setting up a makeshift work station in the school's lab, Peter grabbed some sticky tape, a battery, copper wires, small weights, and an optical microscope. Ronnie casually scrolled through his phone, glancing occasionally at Peter’s growing pile of supplies.

"Alright, first off, you know this isn’t actually lead in the pencil, right?" Peter said, holding up the pencil for emphasis.

"Yeah, yeah, it's graphite. Even the kids in Year 7 know that," Ronnie replied, amused.

"Good," Peter nodded. "Because graphene is just a very thin layer of this stuff—structured in a honeycomb pattern that gives it all those incredible properties I mentioned. And believe it or not, with just a bit of sticky tape, I can create it." The school teacher in Peter, kicking into overdrive as he presented.

Peter peeled off a strip of tape, sticking it to the graphite in the pencil, then carefully pulling it away, revealing a nearly invisible layer. He waved the strip of tape like he had discovered penicillin.

"Alright, let’s see if this conducts electricity," Peter said, attaching copper wires to the ends of the graphene using conductive glue. He hooked it up to a battery and a multimeter.

Ronnie stood up from his chair, clearly intrigued now, and wandered over. His eyes drifted to the multimeter’s screen, and his jaw dropped.

"Nearly zero resistance…" Ronnie stammered, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Exactly," Peter said, switching the multimeter to measure current. "Now look at the conductivity. And remember, this is just a layer of material that’s one atom thick."

Ronnie was visibly sweating now, his skepticism cracking. "This can’t be real. It has to be some kind of trick."

Peter smirked. "Oh, it’s real.” He wondered what it must have been like for Andre Geim and Konstantin Novoselov, the real people who discovered graphene, what was there reaction to all these tests. “Let me show you something else."

Peter carefully pulled a few more layers of graphene from the graphite and attached them to a small frame. Then he began adding small weights to it. They balanced, almost otherworldly, like little floating rings.

"For comparison," Peter said, setting up two more frames—one with paper and another with plastic film. He added weights to those as well. Both failed before the third weight was added, crumpling under the pressure. But the graphene frame? It held strong, no sign of breaking.

"This… this has to be a joke!" Ronnie was visibly shocked now, running his hands through his hair.

Peter chuckled, enjoying the sight of his friend’s disbelief. "A joke? I’m not done yet."

He placed a thin sheet of graphene onto a glass slide and adjusted it under the microscope. Once he had the magnification right, he stepped aside, motioning for Ronnie to take a look.

Ronnie leaned in and peered through the lens. His breath hitched. "Just one atom thick…"

"That’s right, Ronnie. Imagine the possibilities—electronics, construction, you name it. What silicon did for electronics, graphene will do for everything else. Times ten. Times a hundred."

Ronnie stepped back, his mouth wide in shock. "But… how? How did you know about this?"

Peter smiled, his expression somber now. "I told you, Ronnie. I have these memories from another world. Some things are the same, some are different. I need your help, man. I can’t figure this out alone."

Ronnie glanced at the makeshift experiments, then back at Peter. He exhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well… how could I refuse the man who just handed me the greatest discovery of the 21st century?"

----------------------------------------

After Ronnie’s excitement died down, Peter filled him in on the parts of his old life that had been haunting him. He started with the task force—the team personally appointed by the president to investigate the disappearance of Venus. Ronnie’s eyes widened, with the mention of his direct involvement with the President, letting out a low whistle.

"Appointed by the President? You never mentioned you were rubbing shoulders with that kind of company," Ronnie said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Yeah," Peter said, his voice distant. "In my other life, I was leading the task force. We were knee-deep in trying to figure out how an entire planet could just vanish. And then... I woke up here. In this life. Where none of it seems to have happened. But at the same time it’s like I have been here all this time and those memories are new. The only thing linking it all together is Dr. Brettell—he was a key figure back then and John Weilder. I met the doctor today, but he didn’t even know who I was. Now I need to track down his son, Paul Brettell. I’m sure he’s involved somehow."

Ronnie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It’s heavy stuff, mate. Disappearing planets, parallel realities... it's no wonder your head’s been spinning. John Weilder too, I bet that man would give you his billion for what you just showed me.”

“I have a feeling he already knows. I’ll get to him, but not right now. My gut is telling me Paul is the key.”

“Then follow your gut mate. I’ll help however I can. Cover for you at work, take care of the exams, whatever you need."

Peter nodded, grateful. "I appreciate that, Ronnie. Really. I just need to figure out what's going on. This can’t all be in my head. It’s real."

Ronnie leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Listen, mate. I believe you, but there’s something else we need to address first." He paused, letting his words settle. "You’ve got a wife. Jess is worried sick about you. I spoke to Claire, and she's been hearing things from Jess. She’s concerned, Pete. You’re not just chasing some grand mystery—you’ve got a life here too, and people who care about you."

Peter swallowed hard, guilt creeping into his chest. He hadn’t been fair to Jessica, brushing her off, hiding what was going on. She didn’t deserve that. Even his old memory of her couldn’t dull the feelings he had for her now. Ronnie was right.

"Go home tonight, Pete," Ronnie said gently. "Take a breather. Spend some time with Jess, let her know what's going on, even if you can't explain all of it. We can start fresh tomorrow. I’ll handle the rest of the exams—you don’t need to worry about that."

Peter let out a long exhale, everything had happened so fast, he really could do with taking five, seeing his wife, seeing her for the woman he loves. Ronnie was right. As much as he wanted to dive headfirst into this mystery, this life was real, and so was Jess.

"You’re right," Peter said quietly. "I need to talk to her. I’ve been so caught up in all of this, I’ve barely thought about how it’s affecting her."

"Exactly," Ronnie said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Go home, take care of things there. We’ll deal with the rest tomorrow."

Peter stood up, feeling a sense of clarity returning to him. He still needed answers, but he couldn’t lose himself completely to the mystery. Not yet. Talking about it to someone has been liberating. He didn’t feel as isolated any more.

"Thanks, Ron," Peter said, offering a sincere smile. "I’ll head home and talk to Jess."

"Good man," Ronnie said, giving him an approving nod. "And don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of all this. Just... don’t lose sight of what’s important."

Peter g

got into his car. Don’t lose sight of what’s important, huh, it’s all important, every last detail.