His own face stared back at him from the dark phone screen.
The screen was off, but the room was just bright enough for his reflection to show up: messy dark hair trying to escape in every direction, faint shadows under his eyes, T-shirt he didn't remember ever looking this bad on him.
He pulled the phone a little closer.
Still him. Just slightly more washed-out.
Hao let the phone drop onto the desk with a soft thud and leaned back in his chair.
The room looked like someone had tried to mash two different lives into one space.
On the left side, everything was in its place. The bed was made, blanket smoothed out, pillows stacked in a neat pile. A small shelf held his books, a couple of old trophies, and a plant that stubbornly refused to die. His clothes were in the closet, door shut, nothing spilling out.
On the right side, everything else had given up.
His desk was crowded but not disastrous. Open notebooks, a few tilted stacks of worksheets, pens abandoned where they'd rolled, highlighters without caps, a half-finished to-do list with the last three lines blank. His laptop sat in the middle, slightly smudged, its screen full of tabs he didn't want to think about.
A forgotten mug sat near the edge, the coffee inside now some new species of life he was avoiding on purpose.
Hao squinted at the laptop screen until the text started blending together. Practice exam questions. Timers. Red numbers. Little digital reminders of all the things he should be doing.
His eyes burned in that way that meant he'd been awake too long, even if the day hadn't been dramatic.
School. Extra problems. Boxing. Gym. Cooking just enough so he didn't live off snacks. Trying to reply to messages so people didn't think he was ignoring them. Pretending he had a "balanced lifestyle" whenever adults asked.
It wasn't one big disaster. Just hundreds of small things stacking up without asking for permission.
His thoughts tried to scatter in five directions at once.
I still need to fix that chapter.I have that mock test next week.Coach said my guard is slipping.I haven't checked that group chat in days.I told myself I'd stretch more.I'm behind again. I'm always behind.
It felt like his whole life had turned into one long checklist that never emptied, just refreshed with new items every time he crossed something off.
Do this so you don't fail.Do this so you don't fall behind.Do this so you don't waste your potential.
Somewhere along the way, "things I like" had quietly merged with "things I have to keep up with so I don't feel useless."
Productive hobbies, he thought, staring at the messy column of tasks on the to-do list. Gym. Boxing. Studying ahead. Cooking real food. Things he used as proof he wasn't lazy, proof he was trying.
Proof for who, exactly?
His chest felt tight, like someone had put a hand there and just... leaned.
Every time he tried to think past the next test, his brain just slid into static. He knew the script he was supposed to follow: grades, university, job, rent, bills, repeat. He could see the shape of it, but not a single part that looked like him.
I can't even imagine what happens after this, he thought. Job. Rent. License. Bills. The same schedule, just with more numbers attached. Is this really how it's supposed to go?
The thought didn't come with panic or a dramatic breakdown. It just sat there, heavy and tired, like another assignment he hadn't started.
He rubbed a thumb under one eye, like that would erase the tiredness carved there.
He felt like he was trying to hold too many things with not enough hands. Dropping nothing, but not really carrying anything well either.
He exhaled, long and slow, until it turned into more of a sigh.
Whatever. That's a future problem.
He closed the laptop with a soft click and nudged a few notebooks aside, just enough so they weren't staring back at him. His phone screen caught his reflection again for a second when he stood, slightly warped this time, like a small reminder that he really did look as tired as he felt.
The bed felt unusually comfortable when he dropped onto it. A little cooler than he expected, the sheets softer than he remembered. It was the first time in a while he didn't instantly reach for his phone or stare at the ceiling, waiting for his brain to spin up another round of "everything you might be failing at."
He lay on his back, let out one more breath, and let himself sink.
Sleep hit him all at once.
No countdown. No drifting. Just out.
•
When he opened his eyes again, the ceiling was gone.
So was the room.
Sound reached him first: voices, a few at once, relaxed and overlapping. Someone laughed. Something wooden creaked. There was a soft, steady crackling nearby.
He blinked and pushed himself up on his elbows.
A forest spread out around him, calm and clean in the kind of way you only ever saw on those way-too-edited social media posts. Tall trees ringed a wide clearing, their branches swaying slightly against a pale strip of sky. The ground was mostly dirt and flattened grass, with a few roots poking through like someone had forgotten to hide them.
Moonlight washed everything in a cold, silvery layer, bright enough to see but still definitely night.
Not far from him, a wooden cabin sat at the edge of the clearing. It wasn't big, but it looked solid, like something people actually used instead of a haunted house prop. Warm yellow light glowed behind the windows. Smoke curled lazily from a chimney, carrying a thick, woody that hung in the air.
People were walking toward the cabin, arms full of bags, pillows, and random camping junk. A girl in an oversized hoodie tried to balance two boxes at once while complaining about their weight. Someone else dragged a cooler, its wheels thumping over the uneven ground. A tall guy with a cap was talking too loudly for the time of night, gesturing like he was explaining something important and completely unnecessary.
They all looked… normal. Tired in the casual way of people who'd been traveling, but still joking, nudging each other, bickering over where to put things.
For a while, Hao just stared, his mind taking a short break.
This wasn't his room. There was no desk. No laptop. No pile of papers he would much rather just throw away.
No city noise. No neighbors. Just trees, air that felt cleaner than anything he was used to, and the loud voices coming from ahead of him.