opened my eyes to fire.
People were screaming spells. Scrolls flapped through the air like panicked pigeons. Somewhere nearby, someone shouted in broken Italian and turned a lamppost into a chicken.
The sky was a battlefield.
Glowing runes crashed mid-air.
A bard was breakdancing and beatboxing simultaneously.
A knight screamed, "Syntax first! FOR THE COUNCIL!"
And me?
I was barefoot. Confused.
Holding a scroll that was slowly catching fire in my hand.
> "This is all because of that green, shitty app bird…" I muttered.
---
It hadn't been that many days ago.
I was just walking through the college hallway with my friend Hali — deep in one of our usual "what kind of waifu are you gonna marry?" debates.
> "She's gotta be tall," Hali said, stuffing chips into his mouth. "Like, Amazonian. Deadly in heels. Fluent in at least three swords."
"Mine's gotta be cute," I said, eyes on the sky. "Glasses, messy bun, probably curses like an old sailor but only when flustered—"
That's when I saw her.
Aisha.
Sunlight.
Hair ribbon.
Faint sparkle effect, like God had put her on Photoshop sparkle overlay mode.
She was laughing with a friend, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and holding a French textbook like it was the source of all light and joy in this terrible, dying world.
> BAM. Instant nosebleed.
I actually staggered a bit. Hali thought I got punched by air.
> "Bro. What. Just. Happened."
"My future wife is in Section C," I whispered.
Next thing I knew?
I was in French class.
I didn't care what "avoir" or "être" meant.
I just sat two rows behind her, watching her laugh, talk, doodle in the margins of her notebook like some kind of divine enchantment with eyeliner.
Every time she giggled at a pronunciation joke, I translated it as a sign from the universe.
Once she dropped her pen and I picked it up for her — that was basically a marriage proposal, right?
I imagined shared coffees. Love notes in French. Our future kid saying "je t'aime papa" and me crying dramatically into a baguette.
Instead?
She never talked to me.
Didn't even glance back.
One day she just... disappeared.
Switched to Japanese.
Left me in French class, alone with my heart, my croissant, and the world's most passive-aggressive owl app.
> "But you still kept going?" Hali had asked me once.
"Yeah," I'd muttered. "For the streak."
The Duolingo streak.
Love was long gone, but that cursed green owl was always watching.
> Duolingo:
"You haven't practiced French today."
"15-day streak at risk."
"We believe in you!"
"Don't make us angry :)"
I stared at the screen.
> "Je suis un croissant."
I blinked.
> "I am a croissant."
"I AM A CROISSANT?!"
> "No wonder she switched languages. French is cursed."
Frustrated, I tossed the phone on my desk.
> "Screw French. Screw streaks. Screw trying."
I deleted the app.
That's when my phone vibrated again.
The lights flickered.
The fan stopped.
The air grew heavy. Like the room itself knew I'd just made a horrible mistake.
Then came the flutter of wings.
A massive green owl appeared in mid-air, runes glowing on its feathers, its eyes galaxies.
> "You broke the streak."
I backed away. "It's just an app!"
> "Language is a sacred contract. You clicked 'Start Course.' Your oath is eternal."
"You rejected growth. Rejected knowledge. Rejected love. For this, you shall be... relocated."
Scrolls erupted from my notebook, circling me like angry paper ghosts.
> "Prepare for... recalibration."
A flash. A rush of wind. Reality unraveled like sentence fragments.
> "I only wanted to flirt!" I screamed.
Then darkness.
Then a whisper. A song. Her voice?
> "For every word I couldn't say..."
Then impact.
Grass. Sky. Scrolls fluttered past.
A glom