January 2, 2050. Sunday.
I woke up too quickly. Not to anything in particular. Sudden and clean break where your body decides sleep is over before your head agrees. The light was already there, soft and low through the window. Same as yesterday. Same cool, dry air. It hasn't shifted much yet. Still that in-between stretch where the city pretends it's resting even when it isn't. But it's not the same. Yesterday felt like it was holding onto something.
Today feels like it's letting go. There's less noise, but it wasn't entirely quiet. It was like everything was spread out. Distant engines starting up earlier than they need to. Elevators running in longer intervals. Sounds you only notice when routines are trying to reassemble. Holiday's ending. You can hear it if you paid attention.
I stayed still for a bit, just letting my eyes adjust. Trying to figure out what exactly pulled me out of sleep that fast. I don't remember the dream properly. Not the images, at least. Nothing I can point to and say, yeah, that happened. It's already gone in that way dreams do where they collapse the second you look at them directly. But something stuck. There was a sound. That's the only part that made it through. Metal, under strain. A low, drawn-out groan like something taking on more weight than it was built for. That's it. No visuals or context. Just that. It didn't feel like anything. Not even fear or panic.
My shoulders had already tightened up by the time I sat up. Same with my back. Right when school stops being a future problem and starts becoming a date. My body's good at tracking that kind of thing. Better than I am.
Unit moved in my peripheral before I could fully wake up. Hovering just off the side of the bed, running a scan. It's done that before. But not often. It probably flagged something minor, maybe it was my sleep or my posture, whatever it decides counts as worth checking. Still annoying. I told it "Standby". It pulled back immediately, drifting toward its dock like nothing happened. I watched it for a second longer than necessary, then let it go. It's easier to treat it like it knows what it's doing. Even if it doesn't. Or maybe especially if it doesn't.
I reached for my device and opened this journal app again. Yesterday's entry was still sitting there, unchanged. I skimmed through it from the top. It reads differently today. Less immediate. More arranged. Like whatever I was trying to say finally picked a shape and stuck to it.
The apartment was already in motion. Both of them were home. Which, somehow, feels more chaotic than when they're not. Dad had a call running from the dining table, goggles on, pacing just enough to stay on camera without actually sitting down. Mom was moving between the kitchen and the living room with her device in hand, pausing every few steps to reply to something before continuing like she hadn't stopped. They weren't talking to each other.
Ah Gong and Ah Ma were already settled in, like they'd been up for hours. Devices on the table, tea half-finished, completely unaffected by everything else moving around them. Different pace entirely.
I grabbed one of the meal sets from the fridge and heated it without thinking too much about it. Sausage, egg, rice. Same as usual.
Mom glanced over at some point. "Orientation forms," she said, not looking up from her screen. "You should check if anything needs printing." A few seconds later, from somewhere behind me: "Three days." Dad, this time. Still on his call. "Bag sorting," Mom added, already walking past.
I sat down and started eating. For a second, I almost said it. It's still a holiday. It was already there, halfway up, ready to come out sharper than it needed to be. I didn't. There's no point. The script's the same every time. They say their part, I say mine, nothing changes except the volume. They didn't push it further. Didn't need to. The reminder does its job on its own. Still hangs there, though. You can feel it. Like something waiting for the right moment to come back.
I checked my device while eating. Notifications had already started stacking. Alex first. A picture of a cat curled up under a parked scooter, half-hidden in the shadow of the wheel. Caption: "city still asleep". I stared at it. It's nothing. Just something he saw and decided to send. But it works. It always does. Takes the edge off the morning without trying.
School notifications came next. Orientation reminders, parking restrictions, staggered opening dates. Same formatting, same urgency, like any of it's new information. Primary on the third. Junior secondary on the fourth. Senior, mine, on the fifth. Three days.
I opened another tab and tried pulling up the clip from yesterday. The one with the drone. It didn't load. Just a blank page for a second, then a line of text: "Content unavailable." No explanation. Nothing to indicate it was ever there. I stared at it for a bit, then refreshed. Same result. I closed it. Feeds adjusted immediately after that. Back-to-school ads, one after another. Shoes, bags, devices, tutoring services, meal plans. All tuned just enough to feel specific. I scrolled past them faster than usual. Doesn't take much before it starts feeling like they're not guessing. I locked the screen and set the device down. Finished eating without really tasting anything.
I told myself going out would help clear the noise. I felt that staying in one place too long makes everything loop louder. Ah Gong and Ah Ma were already planning to pick up a few things anyway, so I went with them. It felt easier to attach myself to an existing plan than to come up with one.
The city wasn't fully back yet, but it was trying. You could feel it in the way things moved. Like everything was remembering what speed it was supposed to be at. There were still people with luggage hanging around building entrances and transport stops, lingering. Holiday banners were still up, but they look like they were waiting to be taken down.
We started at PaperWorks. Usual crowd of people doing last-minute preparations. Ah Gong asked if I needed anything. I said I didn't, even though I probably do need new notebooks. It came out automatically. I think I just didn't want to stand there while he picked things out for me. It feels like something I should already have handled.
They asked the usual questions while we moved through the aisles. Eating properly, sleeping properly, whether I thought the coming term would be manageable. I gave them what they needed, something in the range of "yes," "it should be fine," and "I'll manage." It wasn't difficult. Talking to them never is. There's no pressure to explain beyond what you're willing to say.
When we stepped back outside, there were more people than before. Like a sketch getting its lines darkened. Someone was playing guitar near the corner, soft enough that you only really noticed it when you were already close. A patrol exoskel walked over after a while. It stopped near him, did whatever scan it needed to do. The guitarist started packing up before anything was said. That part stood out more than the rest. How quickly it resolved itself. Like both sides already knew how it would go.
I kept walking after that, but the moment stayed somewhere in the back of my head. Something about it didn't sit properly. I couldn't pin down what exactly. It wasn't even that it was unfair. Or maybe it was, but that didn't feel like the right word either. It was more like watching something happen exactly the way it's supposed to and still feeling like you missed a step in between.
FairWell was next. Groceries are always the same process. Scan, confirm, bag, done. I don't think about it anymore. I picked up what we usually get, plus a few things I know I'll end up eating when no one's paying attention. It all goes through the family account anyway, so there's nothing to decide beyond what to reach for. I tried taking the heavier bags on the way out. Ah Gong brushed it off immediately. Said there was no need. I tried again a bit later, same result. They both kept insisting they could handle it. I stopped after that.
Lunch was at the hawker center nearby. Same kind of place we always end up at when they're here. We got simple bowls. I didn't really think about what I ordered. The food was good in the way things are good when you don't have to think about them. They talked while we ate. Mostly about people they know, things that happened in their building, small updates that don't matter outside their circle in Fort Maxwell, but matter enough to them. I listened. There wasn't any pressure to carry the conversation.
At some point I noticed I wasn't trying to lead anything. I was just following along with whatever they decided to do next. It took me a second to realize why that felt different. It felt like rest. The kind where you stop deciding. Where nothing depends on you doing the next thing correctly. I didn't have to think ahead or manage anything. I just had to be there.
It turned into something else almost immediately. A kind of quiet guilt. I'm used to handling things on my own. At home, especially. Chores, small fixes, keeping track of what needs to be done. It's not even something I think about anymore. It just happens. So letting them take over, even for something this small, felt off in a different way. Like I was stepping back from something I'm supposed to be responsible for. I didn't say anything about it. It didn't feel like something that needed to be said out loud. It just sat there, alongside everything else from today.
After we finished eating, we stayed seated for a bit longer. No one rushed us out. People came and went around us. It was easy to stay there without thinking about what came next. That's when I noticed Alex across the way.
He was sitting alone, leaning back in his chair like he always does, opening a can of soda like it was part of a performance. It took him a second to spot me, but when he did, he reacted immediately. Like he'd been expecting something to happen and I just happened to be it. I went over after telling Ah Gong and Ah Ma I'd be nearby. They didn't mind.
The conversation started the way it usually does. Just small things: something he saw earlier, something about the way the city was acting today, observations he throws out that don't really need a response but make it easier to talk anyway. It shifted the mood without trying hard to.
Then, at some point, he looked at me a bit more closely and asked if I was good. Said I looked like I didn't sleep well. Something about a nightmare, thrown in like a joke. It landed more accurately than it should have. I didn't react to it directly. Just brushed it off, let the moment pass. He didn't push. He rarely does when it matters.
He asked about the timetables not long after. Whether I'd checked it yet. I said "soon." It was the easiest answer to give and probably the worst one. He noticed, I think. There was a small pause, just enough to register that he heard it, but he didn't call it out, just moved on. That's the thing with him. He doesn't need things spelled out. He picks up enough to know where to stop. We didn't stay on that topic. The conversation drifted back to safer ground without either of us pointing it out. It worked.
Across the street, a service bot was dealing with a set of leftover decorations. It was trying to detach something from a railing, but its movements were slightly off. Misaligned enough that it had to correct itself mid-action. It dropped part of what it was holding, paused for a fraction longer than expected, then reset and continued. It looked familiar. Same kind of hesitation as yesterday. Not exactly identical, only close enough that it registered. Two in two days. I didn't think about it past that. Or at least I tried not to.
Alex finished his drink, said he had to go. Quick exit the way he always does, like he's already halfway into the next thing before this one ends. It suits him. The city seems to adjust around that kind of movement. I watched him disappear into the crowd before heading back. Things don't stick to him the same way they do to other people. Or maybe they do, and he just doesn't show it.
When I got back, Ah Gong and Ah Ma were still nearby, looking through fabrics at a stall. I told them I'd meet them after stepping out for something quick. They didn't ask what. They never do.
Hutchingson was crowded in that half-organized way it always is after holidays. I didn't spend long inside. I already knew what I was getting. Extra Strength CoolSoothe. Digestol. Nocturna. Same as before. I added a bottle of iced tea at the last second, mostly so it didn't look like I walked in just for the other three. Not that anyone was paying attention. People don't, unless you give them a reason to. I paid in cash. It's simpler that way. No delayed notification sitting somewhere waiting to be pulled up later. It doesn't erase the fact that I bought anything, obviously, but it keeps it contained. The receipt went straight into the bin by the door. I didn't think about it again after that.
Ah Gong and Ah Ma were still at the fabric stall when I got back. They were comparing two shades that looked identical to me, but they were taking it seriously, so I stood there and nodded when they asked. The bag felt heavier, but not enough for them to notice, or maybe they just chose not to.
We walked home slower than we went out. The city had filled in a bit more by then. More people, more movement, just more of that weekday rhythm trying to come back online.
By the time we got to the apartment, my parents were already inside. They had that look again. Whatever they'd been talking about earlier hadn't resolved cleanly. Devices were still open on the table. One of them had a document paused mid-scroll.
We did the usual greetings. Nothing extended. No one asked where we'd gone in detail, and I didn't offer anything beyond "groceries." I went to my room first to drop my bag. Just left it by the desk and stood there, like I was waiting for something to settle. Nothing did, so I went back out when I heard the doorbell.
Vivian and her family. Back from DKH already. She didn't even send a heads-up. They brought a melon from the market there. Large, polished, the kind that looks like it belongs in a display case more than a kitchen. My parents shifted the moment they saw them at the door. Like they silently agreed to shift the tone up without discussing it first. We all ended up in the living room.
Greetings, comments about the new year, overlapping conversation where no one really finishes what they're saying but it still lands complete enough. The grandparents slotted in easily. They're good at that kind of pacing. Viv's younger siblings immediately gravitated toward the TV. Their cat Nido had apparently stayed behind at DKH with the relatives, she mentioned worrying about it the whole drive back.
She ended up next to me on the couch. Neat and composed the way she always is, like long car rides don't touch her. We talked while the parents did their own thing across the room, mostly about the drive back, such as how one of her siblings was apparently crying for twenty minutes straight over nothing in particular. She had that slightly worn-but-functional look of someone who'd been around family for three days straight and was managing it well. I grabbed two cans of Anchor Soda from the fridge handed her one without asking. She took it, cracked it open, kept talking.
The parents' conversation had shifted by then. Her dad was talking about her upcoming committee applications, framing it the way parents do when they're not bragging but are absolutely keeping score. Mine picked it up immediately, feeding in my electives, my "direction," the usual architecture of that particular exchange. Words like "stability" appeared right on schedule. Viv glanced at me sideways. Then she said it. Dropped it in like she was continuing a thought she'd already started. That since we were on the topic, leadership, next year, all of it, she supposed it was already decided, wasn't it.
Leaders of our respective blocs in debate. It was already decided. Had been for weeks. But she was saying it now. Here. In front of both sets of parents. I understood immediately. Her dad had just spent five minutes itemizing her achievements to a captive audience of two. So. Might as well. I didn't say anything for a second. Then: "Yeah. Already decided." She smiled into her drink. Small, self-contained.
The parents shifted into their own rhythm after that. Updates in comparisons. No one says "my child is doing better than yours," but the structure of the conversation leans that way anyway. It's subtle enough that you could pretend it isn't happening if you wanted to. Vivian's parents talked about her university applications, and some committee thing I didn't fully follow. Mine responded with my electives, my "direction," the usual emphasis on engineering.
Her dad asked about whether I was still set on engineering. It was casual. That's what makes those questions harder to respond to sometimes. I don't think he meant to pressure, so the pressure comes from everything around it instead. I answered normally. Or at least, I think it sounded normal. Ah Ma added something about taking time to figure things out. That helped. It moved the conversation forward without needing a clear answer from me. Viv didn't say anything during that part. The earlier comment about debate was already enough.
They didn't stay too long. Goodbyes were quick and polite as usual. The melon stayed behind on the counter after they left. It looked out of place immediately. Too clean for everything else around it.
I went back to my room not long after. I didn't feel like sitting, so I picked up the spare propeller motor for Unit and started working through the calibration again. It probably didn't need fixing for another four months. I just needed something repetitive enough to keep my hands occupied.
I opened something to watch while I was doing it. Overseer Sonata. It's been circulating again after that review clearance. I didn't expect much beyond background noise, but it was more engaging than I thought. Enough to keep my attention for now, but not so much to pull me completely in. That's probably better. I left it running while I worked, then paused it halfway through without finishing the episode. I'll come back to it later.
By the time I peeked out my door, the apartment had quieted down. It seemed that everyone decided they're done for the day. I went back to my desk. Finally bothered to open the timetable. I didn't spend much time on the subjects. There was nothing surprising there. I already knew what this year would look like on paper. That part was never the problem.
It was the section that mattered. I scanned through the names once, then again more slowly. Some expected. Some not. And then I saw Alex's name. I stopped there a bit longer. We haven't been in the same class since Prince Arthur Primary. Everything after that was just timing. I didn't realize I'd gotten used to that until now. It's different seeing it written down. Official. Not something that can shift last minute or get rearranged. I went through the rest of the list after that, but not as carefully.
I closed it after a while. I started arranging my things anyway. Notebooks, materials, whatever I'd need for the first week. It didn't feel like preparation so much as going through motions that are supposed to count as preparation. There's a difference.
I pulled out the railway magazine after that. The one from Christmas I hadn't touched yet. Year-end recap, new rolling stock, route expansions. The usual things. It helped. Trains make sense. They move or they don't. When something goes wrong, there's a reason you can eventually trace.
The rest of the day didn't really fit into that kind of structure. Nothing actually went wrong. That's the part I keep coming back to. Everything was normal. Conversations. Routines. Even the off moments. Those could all be explained individually if I tried hard enough. But taken together, it still feels like something shifted. Just not visibly in a way I can point to.
I can't tell if I'm imagining that or just noticing it for the first time. Either way, it's there.