Everything began when that strange light entered my room.
At first, I thought it was just a reflection from a passing car or the moon playing tricks on my tired eyes. It hovered near the ceiling, pale and quiet, pulsing as if it were breathing. The air felt heavier, warmer, and my desk lamp flickered before shutting off completely. I remember sitting up in bed, my heart pounding, torn between fear and an overwhelming sense of curiosity.
The light slowly drifted closer, illuminating the walls with shifting colors I had never seen before. They weren’t quite blue or green, but something in between, something that felt unfamiliar yet strangely comforting. As it touched the floor, time seemed to stretch. Every sound outside my window faded, leaving only my own breath and the soft hum of the glow.
Without thinking, I reached out. The moment my fingers passed through it, memories that weren’t mine flooded my mind. I saw vast cities floating above oceans, skies filled with unfamiliar stars, and beings who communicated without words. None of it felt like a dream. It felt real, precise, and intentional, as if the light was showing me fragments of a truth hidden just beyond human sight.
Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the light began to fade. Panic rushed through me. I didn’t want it to leave, not yet. I had so many questions, so many things I didn’t understand. But it slipped away gently, leaving behind a faint warmth in my chest and a thin, glowing mark on my wrist.
When the lamp turned back on, my room looked exactly the same. Yet I knew something had changed. Since that night, I notice patterns others ignore, hear whispers in silence, and feel like I’m being quietly prepared for something important. I don’t know when the light will return, but I’m certain of one thing: my life no longer belongs only to this world.