Adam sat near the edge of the cliff with his feet planted in dirt that felt colder than it should have been. The sea roared somewhere far below, unseen but ever-present, like it was waiting for him. The wind tore at his jacket, slipping through the seams and biting into his skin. He barely noticed.
The bottle in his hand was cheap. He knew that because he'd bought it with the last notes in his wallet. Each swallow burned on the way down, sharp and unpleasant, but that was the point. Pain was something he could understand. Pain made sense.
Above him, the sky stretched wide and empty. The stars were thin tonight, scattered like they had other places to be. Adam let out a weak laugh.
"Figures," he muttered. Even the sky couldn't be bothered.
Four years. That was how long he'd tried to make it work. Four years of being a wedding planner. Or pretending to be one. Four years of smiling through meetings, promising miracles he couldn't deliver, and convincing himself that the next booking would fix everything.
It never did...
He remembered the beginning too clearly. The excitement. The spreadsheets. The business name sounded confident and professional. His parents had believed in him then. They'd invested everything, telling him it was worth the risk. His friends had clapped him on the back and said he was brave.
Now those same people wanted nothing to do with him.
Messages stopped coming. Invitations dried up. Family gatherings turned into quiet, uncomfortable affairs until they stopped altogether. The last real conversation with his parents had ended with silence so heavy it felt permanent.
Adam took another drink, grimacing as his thoughts blurred. He wasn't homeless yet. But he was close enough to feel it breathing down his neck. The borrowed sofa, the polite smiles, the unspoken question of how long he'd be there.
"You really messed this up," he whispered to himself.
The cliff felt closer than it had before. One step. Just one. No more letters demanding money he didn't have. No more explaining himself. No more being the disappointment in every room.
Adam stared into the darkness below, his chest tight, his mind empty.
And then something streaked across the sky.
A line of light cut cleanly through the night. Bright. Fast. Gone.
Adam blinked. "You've got to be joking," he said quietly.
A shooting star. Of all things.
He watched the sky, half-expecting it to undo itself and admit the joke. It didn't. The darkness settled back in, just as empty as before.
Shooting stars were for wishes. For kids and dreamers, and people who still think the world listens.
Adam snorted. "Alright then."
He tilted his head back, eyes stinging. "Let's do it properly."
"I wish," he said, voice thick and tired, "for a system. Someone who actually knows how to plan weddings. Something that tells me what I keep doing wrong."
He paused, then added more quietly, "Because I clearly can't."
The wind answered him after a moment as nothing else did.
He laughed under his breath and lifted the bottle in a half-hearted salute. "Cheers. To wasted time. And wasted money."
The bottle left his hand and vanished into the dark, the distant shatter echoing faintly. That sound felt final. Like he'd just closed the last door he had left.
Adam stood, unsteady but determined. The wind pressed against him, pushing, encouraging, or maybe just reminding him how easy it would be.
"This is it," he murmured.
He stepped closer. Pebbles slid away beneath his shoe. His heart wasn't racing. It was tired. So very tired.
Adam closed his eyes.
A sound rang out behind him.
Not the wind.Not the sea.
A sharp, clear chime.
Adam froze.
"What?" He stumbled back, eyes snapping open.
Light bloomed in front of him.
Adam fell backwards with a startled shout, landing hard on the ground. His heart hammered as glowing blue words hovered in the air where nothing should have been.
It didn't flicker. It didn't fade either.
It instead stayed.
Adam waved a shaking hand through it. His fingers passed straight through.
His head buzzed, but not in the way the alcohol caused. This felt sharp. Clear. Painfully wrong. Like a headache, but instead your head was getting drilled inside out.
More words appeared, slower this time, almost careful.
A system had been detected.A wish had been acknowledged.
Adam's breath caught. "Wish?"
The shooting star flashed in his mind. The stupid joke. The words he hadn't meant.
"This isn't funny," he said aloud. "If this is some kind of hallucination, you picked a terrible time."
Another pause. Then new text, firmer.
It was here to help him plan weddings.It was bound to him.It would not leave.
Adam laughed, but the sound cracked. "You're kidding. I failed at that. That's the whole problem."
More text appeared, almost dry.
It informed him he had £12.47 to his name.It is strongly advised against jumping off the cliff.
Adam sank back onto the ground, staring.
"You're real," he said quietly.
The confirmation came instantly.
The wind still howled. The sea still roared. But something inside his chest loosened, just a fraction. For the first time in years, something had answered him.
Not a person.Not a miracle.
Just… something.
Adam dragged his hands down his face and exhaled slowly. "Alright," he said. "Alright. Let's assume I'm not losing my mind."
The system accepted that.
He pushed himself up and took a step away from the edge. Then another. The cliff no longer felt like an ending. Just a reminder.
"What happens now?" he asked. "Do I get instructions or something?"
A response came, calm and simple.
First, survive the night.Then rebuild.Eventually, aim higher than before.
Adam stared at the words. Fear and disbelief twisted together in his chest. But underneath them, something else stirred. Something small. Dangerous.
Hope.
"Generations," he murmured. He'd said that word once in a presentation. It had sounded ridiculous then.
Now it felt like a challenge.
Failure was acceptable.Giving up was not.
Adam looked back at the sea, then at the glowing text.
"Alright," he said softly. "Let's try again."
The light brightened.
And for the first time in four years, Adam Carter stepped away from the edge, not because he had nothing left, but because something, somehow, had given him a reason to stay.