My eyes open slowly.
Not the way they usually do—quick and sharp, ready for the day. This is different. It feels like surfacing from deep water, from a place where there was no light, no sound, no time.
My eyelids are heavy, weighed down by something that isn't sleep. Something deeper. Like the aftermath of a long, dreamless void— where my body existed, but my soul didn't.
Everything around me is white.
Soft. Glowing.
Not the kind that hurts the eyes, but the kind that settles over everything, quiet and gentle. A warm, golden light lingers at the edges of my vision, diffused and distant. It brushes against my skin—soft, almost forgiving.
Is this heaven?
Did I finally die?
The thought doesn't frighten me.
It feels… peaceful. Like relief.
I blink, struggling to focus, to pull the world into shape. The brightness softens. Forms begin to emerge.
An expensive ceiling. Polished.
