Allen remembered a line from a novel he once read during a dull college lecture.
"Most are born with half their life already decided — the direction set before they can walk. Many more have their entire path written. But a rare few… a very rare few… choose where their life will go by cutting it away from where it was meant to be."
He hadn't understood it then.
Back then, he was just another student sitting by the window, sunlight on his notebook, pretending to take notes while the professor's voice blurred into background noise.
He had always lived as if he were walking on rails.
School because everyone goes to school.
College because everyone goes to college.
Job because that's what comes next.
Even his ambitions were average-sized. Safe. Acceptable.
He got his first job in a glass building that reflected the sky but never let him feel it. He wore ironed suits. Shook hands. Smiled professionally. Laughed when required.
People described him with words like reliable… stable… normal.
His parents were proud.
His friends were impressed.
He felt nothing.
At night, he would lie in bed staring at the ceiling fan turning in endless circles, thinking of that line from the novel.
Half life decided.
Was he walking a path chosen long before he knew he was on it?
Or was he just afraid to step off?
---
Cut to Present
The door had closed behind him.
The valley was gone.
Only the endless grass field remained.
Allen stood still for a moment.
Then he smiled.
Not in shock.
Not in fear.
But in recognition.
As if he had been waiting for this.
He slowly removed his suit jacket. Then the tie. The crisp white shirt that smelled faintly of office air-conditioning and printed documents.
The wind touched his skin directly now.
He folded the clothes carefully and placed them inside his suitcase. The same suitcase he carried every day to work.
He loosened his collar, then finally slipped out of the rest of the formal attire until only simple clothes remained — lighter, freer.
He checked his phone.
No signal.
No bars.
No network.
He stared at the blank corner of the screen for a few seconds.
Then, without hesitation, he switched it off.
Not out of panic.
Not out of frustration.
Just instinct.
A quiet gut feeling.
He placed the phone inside the suitcase and shut it closed.
The click of the lock sounded louder than it should have.
Allen picked up the suitcase.
And began to walk.
The grass brushed against his legs as the sky stretched endlessly above him. No buildings. No roads. No power lines cutting across the horizon.
He walked for what felt like hours.
No watch.
No notifications.
No directions.
Just walking.
The sun shifted slowly in the sky.
Then—
Smoke.
Thin and gray, rising in the distance.
Allen stopped.
His lips curved again — that same unexpected smile.
He adjusted his grip on the suitcase and continued forward.
As he moved closer, shapes formed through the shimmering air.
Small wooden houses.
Thatched roofs.
Fences made of uneven sticks.
A village.
Alive.
Real.
Not modern.
Not ancient.
Just… separate.
The smoke came from cooking fires. Children ran between houses. A dog barked lazily somewhere.
Allen slowed his steps.
For a man who had lived an entirely average life, stepping into an average village in the middle of nowhere—
This felt like the first decision he had ever truly made.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, that line from the novel whispered again:
"A rare few choose where their life will go… by cutting it away from where it was meant to be."
Allen tightened his hold on the suitcase.
And walked toward the village.