—August 3rd, 2025—

I arrived early again, my heart pounding as I saw her already waiting by our usual spot. She wore a black skirt and a purple top today, her hair in a loose braid that caught the evening light. My promise ring sat heavy in my pocket—I hadn't put it back on since yesterday.

"Tell me about your passions," she said instead of hello, her eyes intense with genuine interest. "What makes your soul come alive?"

The directness of her question caught me off guard, but in a good way. No small talk, no dancing around—just straight to the heart of things. "Honestly? Manga and anime are huge parts of my life," I admitted, waiting for the usual dismissive reaction. "But beyond that, I've spent years studying the occult, trying to understand the hidden threads that connect everything."

"What drew you to that?" She sat down on a nearby bench, and I took a seat too, leaving respectful space between us. "The occult studies, I mean."

"I've always felt like there's more to reality than what most people see. Like we're all living in a story that's being written as we go, but some of us can peek behind the pages."

"And what do you see when you peek?" Her question was barely above a whisper.

"Patterns. Connections. Things that shouldn't make sense but do." I glanced at her. "Like how I knew your name before you told me yesterday, even though that's impossible."

She turned to face me fully, her eyes widening. "You did?"

"Yeah. Just like you knew I was afraid of the dark without me telling you." I paused, gathering my thoughts. "Actually, about last night... when you said we were terrible people. I wanted to say something then, but couldn't find the words."

She hugged her knees to her chest, waiting for me to continue.

"I don't think we're terrible at all," I said. "I've studied enough mystical traditions to know that sometimes what looks like destruction from the outside is actually deliverance. What society calls 'wrong' isn't always what the universe considers wrong."

"Tell me more," she said, her eyes fixed on mine, her unease dissolving.

"Last night, you asked if I'd ever had a dream that felt more real than reality. Well, what if that feeling isn't just a metaphor? What if there are forces bigger than social conventions, bigger than our carefully planned lives?" I gestured at the cemetery around us. "We met here of all places—where the veil between worlds is thinnest. That can't be coincidence."

"No," she agreed softly. "It wasn't." She looked down at her hands, where her engagement ring should have been. "What about you?" she asked. "What made you accept this life you're living now?"

I watched a crow land on a nearby headstone before answering. "Fear of being alone, mostly. Fear of disappointing everyone. When you're different—when you see the world differently—people either think you're crazy or trying to be special." I let out a dry laugh. "It's easier to just... conform. To nod and smile and pretend you don't see the cracks in everything."

"The cracks?" She leaned forward slightly.

"Yeah. Like... reality isn't as solid as everyone thinks. The cracks—the cosmic giggles. Sometimes I'll be doing something totally normal—grocery shopping or waiting for the bus—and insane synchronicities would just pop up out of nowhere. Conversations between random people that were relevant to my life. Situations that I swear I’d dreamed up the previous night. Numbers that are trying to deliver messages. And it never stops, you know." I glanced at her, waiting for the look people usually gave me when I talked like this. But her eyes were bright with recognition.

"I know exactly what you mean," she said. "It's like...we’re all one thing, and everyone's playing a game, but they've forgotten it's a game. And when you try to point it out—"

"They think you're the one who's lost touch with reality," I finished.

She nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Is that why you stayed with Sarah? To feel... anchored?"

"Partly. But also because it was expected. Graduate university, get a job, find a girlfriend, move in together. Follow the script." I pulled the promise ring from my pocket, turning it over in my hands. "Tomorrow's her birthday. Her parents are expecting an announcement at dinner."

"Oh." Her voice was soft. "And will there be one?"

Thunder rumbled in the distance, though the sky had been clear moments ago. I looked up, watching dark clouds gather with unnatural speed. "I don't think I can do it anymore. Pretend. Play the role. It's like... have you ever read a manga where the protagonist suddenly realizes they're living a lie? And once they see it, they can't unsee it?"

"What do you see now, Tris?" Her question carried weight beyond its simple words.

"I see that I've been sleepwalking. That maybe we all have. But now..." I met her gaze. "Now I'm awake. And I can't go back to sleep just because it would be more convenient for everyone else."

The first drops of rain began to fall, fat and heavy. Neither of us moved to leave.

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"Sometimes," she said, her voice nearly lost in the growing storm, "the kindest thing you can do is burn everything down. Not out of hatred or anger, but because the old structure needs to fall before something true can grow."

A flash of lightning illuminated her face, and for a moment—just a moment—I thought I saw something else there. Something ancient and knowing. Something that made my years of occult research feel like kindergarten finger-painting.

"I think," I said slowly, "I'm about to burn my whole life down."

She smiled, and it was both beautiful and terrible. "Good," she said. "Let it burn."

The storm broke over us in earnest then, but we sat there in the growing darkness, two souls perched on the edge of destruction, watching the rain wash away the world we'd pretended to belong to.

The rain had completely soaked us within seconds. We just sat there, looking at each other as water poured onto our hair and clothes, and suddenly burst out laughing. The absurdity of the moment, the perfect timing of the storm—it felt like the universe itself was in on some cosmic joke.

"My mom's place is just a few blocks from here," I said between chuckles, wiping rain from my eyes. "We could dry off there, if you want."

Eli pushed her wet braid away from her face, her eyes sparkling with something I couldn't quite read. "Lead the way."

We half-ran, half-walked through the deluge, splashing through puddles like kids. The streets were empty—everyone else had been smart enough to seek shelter when the storm hit. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this alive.

"Mom's working late tonight," I explained as I unlocked the front door. "She's a nurse at St. Michael's." The house was dark and quiet, exactly as she always left it. Even after moving out, I still had a key—mom insisted, saying a mother's home should always be open to her child.

I flicked on the lights and grabbed some towels from the bathroom. When I returned, Eli was standing in the living room, studying the family photos on the wall with intense interest.

"Is this you?" she asked, pointing to a picture of pudgy ten-year-old me clutching a volume of One Piece.

"Yeah," I laughed, handing her a towel. "Some things never change, I guess."

She dried her hair, still looking at the photos. "You look happy there. Unguarded." Her voice had that strange, knowing quality again. "When did you start wearing the mask?"

I knew exactly what she meant. There was a clear progression in the photos—from the beaming kid with manga to the increasingly reserved teenager, to the carefully composed adult photos with Sarah. "High school, probably. When I realized being myself wasn't... acceptable."

"And now?" She turned to face me, the towel draped around her shoulders.

"Now I'm standing in my mother's house with a girl I barely know, feeling more real than I have in years." The words came out before I could filter them.

She smiled, but her eyes were serious. "Do you really barely know me, though?"

"That's the crazy thing, isn't it?" I thought about sitting down on the couch, but I caught myself, remembering that my clothes were still wet and my mother hates mess. However, the familiar setting somehow felt different with Eli’s presence. Lighter. Brighter. "I feel like I've known you forever. Like I've been looking for you without realizing it."

Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the room in stark white.

"Your mother's spiritual," Eli said suddenly. It wasn't a question.

"How did you—" I started, then followed her gaze to the subtle signs around the room: the small Buddha statue in the corner, the crystal hanging in the window, the books on meditation partially hidden on the shelves, the unrelenting mandala designs all over everything. "Yeah. She's the one who first got me interested in looking beyond the surface of things. Indirectly, though. She has her own way of saying little but meaning a lot."

"And what does she think about Sarah?"

I let out a long breath. "She's never said anything directly, but... I think she knows. That it's not right." I looked up at Eli. "She always says that the universe has a way of course-correcting when we've strayed from our true path."

"Like sending a storm," Eli mused, "or arranging a collision in a cemetery."

The rain drummed against the windows, creating a cocoon of sound around us. The house felt different with her in it, like reality itself was bending slightly around her presence. She had a gravity to her that was unmistakably noticeable. And there was a part of me that decided then and there that no one else would have Eli but me.

"I should probably text Sarah," I said, not moving to do so. "Let her know I got caught in the rain."

Before Eli could respond, the sound of keys jingling at the front door made us both freeze. My heart leaped into my throat.

"Tris? You left the door unlocked agai-" Mom's voice called out as she opened the door, then stopped abruptly as she saw us: two dripping wet twenty-somethings looking like deer caught in headlights. Her eyes moved from me to Eli, then to the towels, then back to me. I could practically see the gears turning in her head.

"Hi Mom," I managed weakly. "You're... home early."

In came a middle-aged Caucasian woman who was only a few inches taller than Eli. She had wavy brown hair and dark green eyes that held wisdom far beyond her years. "Emergency response training got canceled," she said slowly, her nurse's badge still swinging from her lanyard. A knowing smile started to creep across her face. "And who might this be?"

"This is Eli," I said, my mind racing. "We got caught in the storm and—"

"I'm not Sarah," Eli cut in with disarming directness. The kind of directness that either ends in disaster or... something else entirely.

To my utter shock, Mom's smile widened. She set down her bags and looked at Eli with an intensity I recognized from my childhood—the same look she got when reading tea leaves or interpreting dreams.

"No," Mom said thoughtfully. "You're certainly not." She glanced at my hand, noticing the missing ring, then back at Eli's left hand which also bore no ring. "Would either of you like some tea?"

I stared at my mother, baffled by her reaction. This wasn't how I expected her to react to finding their child with someone who wasn't their long-term partner. But then again, my mother had always seen things... differently; like me.

"Tea would be lovely," Eli replied, and I swear something passed between them—some unspoken understanding that I couldn't quite grasp.

"Jasmine or chamomile?" Mom asked, already moving to the kitchen.

"Jasmine," they said in unison, then looked at each other in surprise.

Mom's laugh drifted from the kitchen. "I'll put on a pot. Tris, honey, there are some dry clothes in your old room if your friend needs something to change into."

I sat there, stunned by the surreal turn of events. Here was my mother, not only unfazed by finding me alone with a woman who wasn't my girlfriend but actively making tea for us. The universe really did have a twisted sense of humor.

"I like your mom," Eli whispered, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Yeah," I whispered back, "I think she likes you too." Then, louder: "Mom, we should probably—"

"Oh no you don't," Mom called from the kitchen. "The storm's getting worse and I want to hear how you two met. In the cemetery, I'm guessing?"

Eli and I exchanged shocked looks.

"How did she—" I started.

"Know that?" Eli finished.

Mom appeared in the doorway, holding three steaming cups of tea, that familiar mystical gleam in her eye. "Some things," she said with a smile that mirrored Eli's knowing looks, "a mother just knows."

The storm raged on outside, but somehow I felt like I'd just stepped into its eye.