Iris cradled a mug of lukewarm coffee, the bitter warmth grounding her. The morning sun slanted through the cracked blinds. A shadow crossed her desk. It didn’t move with the light. It lingered. Then it was gone.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. Her best friend was calling. The familiar ringtone tugged a faint smile to her lips. She answered, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
"Hey," she said, voice rough.
"Morning, Iris." Her friend’s tone was softer than usual, almost hesitant.
"You okay?" Iris frowned. "I’m fine. What happened? Your voice sounds..."
"Rough morning," the friend chuckled faintly. "Anyway... I thought of you. There’s a book I want you to try. Queen Rose Rules the Apocalypse. Heard of it?"
Iris blinked. The title felt... strange. "Queen... Rose?"
"Yeah. Weird na, I know. It’s imrsive, a bit dark, but it’s good. Thought it might give you sothing different to think about besides labs and lectures."
Iris hesitated. She rarely allowed herself leisure anymore. Yet sothing in her friend’s soft, insistent voice made her pause.
"Maybe later," she murmured. "I’ve got a lot today."
"You’ll thank ," the friend said, voice hoarse but warm. "Promise. I’ll check in tomorrow. Don’t forget."
The call ended. The phone felt heavier in her hand, carrying sothing unspoken. She set it down and let her gaze drift over the cluttered desk, the half-drained coffee mug, the seedlings leaning toward the sunlight. For a mont, she imagined herself elsewhere a world that seed just out of reach, far from the cycles of work and study. For a second, the screen didn’t go dark.
It flickered.
Iris frowned.
Then it returned to normal.
Later that evening, after the second job and a quick dinner, she sank into her armchair by the window. Her laptop lay open. She didn’t think about the synopsis or reviews sothing about this story demanded she start imdiately.
The story unfolded vividly. Cities teetered on the edge of chaos. Characters moved with cunning, charm, and intent. And then she froze. A na appeared. "Iris Hale."
The resemblance was uncanny. Timid, careful, overlooked... just like her.
Not wealth. Not comfort. But the pressure to be perfect. The quiet desperation to be seen.
The extra flinches at raised voices, careful steps through hallways, unnoticed courage it struck a chord deep in Iris. A ripple of warmth spread through her chest, warr than the coffee ever could.
She paused, hands resting on the laptop’s edge, and let the thought linger. Even in a world not her own, struggle existed in layers unseen. Even minor acts of bravery had weight. Even small lives mattered.
The city outside grew quiet as dusk settled, yet Iris stayed engrossed, reading with a rare, absorbing focus. Page after page, the extra’s small battles mirrored her own invisible ones at ho, at school, in the monts nobody noticed she existed.
By the ti she set the laptop aside, darkness had wrapped the city. Her muscles ached. Her mind buzzed. Sowhere between the chaos of the story and the quiet of her apartnt, a thread had ford... connecting her to a world that might not be entirely fiction.
For the first ti in a long while, Iris allowed herself a small, genuine smile. A story had found her, and in finding her, it had sparked the faintest whisper of hope.
And sowhere, just beyond the window, a presence lingered silent, watching, waiting.
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