The morning started, as always, with silence.

Aika slid out of bed in her small, middle-class apartment. The whole house felt empty; her parents were away on a week-long trip. Her only company was the daunting stack of textbooks waiting for her review. Today, she had a mandatory term paper presentation at the university.

She quickly washed up, pulling on a simple combination of jeans and a comfortable knit top. No makeup, no fuss. She gathered her essentials: laptop, notebooks, and a heavily-used copy of a fantasy novel she planned to sneak-read between classes. She then pulled her thick, dark hair into a tight, practical bun and clipped on her black, fake-lensed glasses. They weren't prescription; they were just a small, subtle shield she felt she needed to face the world.

Aika left the apartment, already calculating the stops in her head.

First stop: The corner convenience store. She only ever bought one thing—the predictable turkey sandwich. But today, fate decided to interrupt the routine. The shelf was empty.

Figures, Aika sighed, feeling a spike of disproportionate anxiety. Even my lunch is failing me.

Shaking off the frustration, she headed toward the bus stop, attempting to multitask by pulling out her fantasy novel. She managed two steps before her elbow hit the heavy bag, sending her books tumbling to the pavement. As she knelt, hurriedly stuffing the pages back into the canvas bag, the bus she needed roared past, leaving a plume of exhaust.

"Great," she muttered.

She checked her pocket for the transit card. Empty. She had forgotten it.

Everything was going wrong. She had to walk all the way back up two flights of stairs to retrieve it, making her dangerously late.

Finally, Aika stood alone at the bus stop, chilled despite the faint winter sun. She regretted not grabbing her heavy jacket. While waiting, her eyes fixed on the traffic light. The street was quiet for a moment.

Then, she saw it.

A tiny, striped kitten, startled by a distant horn, was darting across the road right as the light turned red for pedestrians. It was a guaranteed accident.

Aika didn't think. She simply moved. The girl who feared making eye contact with the bus driver bolted into the street, lunging toward the small creature. She managed to scoop up the kitten, pressing it safe against her chest.

A sudden, deafening sound consumed the air—the harsh blast of a horn, immediately followed by the terrifying scream of metal on pavement.

Aika only had time to squeeze her eyes shut and tighten her grip on the small, warm animal before a massive, dark silhouette—a truck—slammed into her world.

And then, silence.