The city throbbed with its usual din—car engines revving, horns echoing through canyons of glass and steel, and countless footsteps hurrying in every direction. Aion slipped among the throngs on the sidewalk, hands buried deep in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched as though he could carve out a private pocket of space in the urban swarm.
He halted at a crosswalk alongside a crowd of people. A bicyclist zoomed by, the rush of wind tugging at his sleeve. Aion instinctively drew back, his slight recoil lost in the jostling sea. When the pedestrian light blinked green, the mass pushed forward; he moved with them but kept a careful distance, focusing straight ahead.
A street performer’s lively tune floated through the air, enticing a small group to watch. Aion glanced over, momentarily captivated by the melody, then continued on, unhurried and determined not to make contact with anyone. He passed a flyer-toting vendor, pivoting smoothly when a paper thrust in his direction came close.
Reaching his apartment building, he keyed in the entry code and slipped inside. The lobby’s quiet hush contrasted sharply with the raucous streets. A handwritten sign on the propped-open elevator doors declared it out of service. Aion eyed the staircase and began his steady climb, footsteps resonating in the empty stairwell.
Within the confines of his apartment, simplicity reigned. The furniture was sparse: a single bed, two tables, a closet, and a neatly arranged set of workout equipment. He set his keys on a small table by the door and settled at his computer. The monitor’s glow lit up his face, etching sharp lines of light and shadow across the otherwise dim room.
His eyes skimmed through headlines and discussion forums. Now and then, he paused—lingering on a cryptic puzzle or a curious news piece—then moved on, storing only fragments in his mind. The faint hum of the city outside mingled with his own subdued thoughts.
A notification blinked onto the screen: Reminder—gathering tonight. Aion studied the words for a moment, then closed the alert. Stretching, he glanced at his coat hanging from a lone hook near the door. The worn fabric seemed to beckon. He hesitated before taking it down and slipping it on. Familiar comfort settled over him as he stepped back into the city’s clamor.
The café was bustling with warmth and chatter, fragrant with coffee and pastries. Weaving between close-packed tables, Aion made his way to a corner where his friends were gathered.
“Aion! You actually made it!” one of them called out with a broad grin.
He offered a quick nod in reply. “Thought I’d stop by.”
They shuffled their chairs to give him space. No sooner had he sat than someone clapped a hand on his shoulder. He tensed, then masked it with a small smile, fighting the urge to pull away.
“Glad to see you out of your cave,” another friend joked.
He shrugged. “Trying something different.”
The conversation flowed around him—lighthearted stories about workplace blunders, excitement over upcoming trips, debates on the latest films. He chimed in occasionally with a nod or a brief word. The café door chimed, drawing laughter that caught his ear.
Peach swept into the room, bright scarf trailing around her neck, eyes sparkling with delight. She waved at everyone as she made her way over.
“Hey, all! Sorry I’m late—book sale at my favorite shop,” she announced, holding up a bag stuffed with novels.
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“Ever the bookworm!” someone teased.
“Guilty as charged,” she said, flashing a grin. Her gaze landed on Aion. “Oh, Aion! Haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Hello, Peach,” he replied quietly, a small upturn of his lips betraying a sliver of warmth.
She noticed the rare hint of a smile. “Well, that’s a nice change. Looks like tonight might be interesting.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but the conversation swept Peach away before he could speak. She was pulled into a discussion of a recent art exhibit, and her excited gestures showed how much she lived for such moments.
Aion sipped his drink, letting the lively atmosphere wash over him. Now and then, Peach’s laughter punctuated the hum of voices. He found himself listening for it, intrigued by a subtle fascination he didn’t quite understand.
As the evening wore on, one by one, his friends peeled away from the table. Peach approached him just before leaving.
“Good to see you tonight,” she said softly, sincerity in her eyes.
“You too,” he answered, voice low.
She stepped closer, drawing him into a brief, warm hug. He stiffened slightly but made himself remain still, allowing the moment to settle. She didn’t appear to notice his hesitance and drew back with a smile.
“Maybe I’ll see you next time?” she suggested.
“Maybe,” he said, meeting her gaze for an instant before she turned to go.
Outside, the night air had taken on a crisp edge. The city was calming, though it never truly slept. Aion tucked his hands in his pockets and walked. Fewer people now roamed the sidewalks, and he slipped through the streets with practiced ease, thoughts drifting to the evening’s subtle but unfamiliar sense of connection.
He replayed small moments—his friends’ camaraderie, the glowing spark in Peach’s eyes when she spoke. A faint smile curved his lips, unnoticed by everyone but himself.
Cutting through a dim alley, he caught the echo of footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing no one, but the soft tread persisted, matching his pace. Slowing, he waited for the steps to do the same.
“You’re not easy to track down, Aion,” a voice drawled from the shadows.
He turned, scanning the gloom. A hooded figure emerged from the darkness, face obscured.
“Do I know you?” he asked quietly.
“Not yet,” the stranger replied, voice smooth. “But we’ve been looking for someone like you.”
Aion crossed his arms. “Someone like me? What do you want?”
A faint smile tugged at the stranger’s lips. “To offer you something remarkable—time. Five hundred years, to be exact.”
Aion’s eyes narrowed. “That sounds like a second-rate sci-fi pitch.”
“Maybe it does,” the stranger allowed. “But sometimes, reality stretches further than we imagine.”
Aion felt an uneasy pull—equal parts skepticism and a strange flicker of hope. “Why me?”
“Because you’re restless,” the stranger replied. “You want more, even if you won’t admit it.”
Their words struck a chord in him, stirring thoughts he usually kept buried. The city’s hum seemed to fade, leaving only his thudding heart and a swirl of questions.
“You have twenty-four hours to decide,” the stranger said, stepping deeper into the shadows. “We’ll meet again tomorrow night.”
“Wait!” Aion called, but the figure was gone, swallowed by darkness.
He stood there, weighing the surreal encounter. His rational side labeled it a hoax—a strange joke, maybe. Yet a deeper part of him latched onto the idea, the possibility of something beyond ordinary life.
He walked home under buzzing streetlights that cast flickering patterns on the pavement. Arriving at his apartment, he locked the door behind him. The familiar silence greeted him, though it felt emptier than before.
He sank down at his computer, but instead of turning it on, he stared at his faint reflection in the black screen. The stranger’s offer echoed in his mind: five hundred years. A chance to rewrite the predictable script of his life. An unspoken question formed at the edges of his thoughts:
If given that chance, would I take it?
The night wore on, and still, he turned the notion over and over, restless and uncertain. Outside, the city’s muffled sounds continued until the first stirrings of dawn. Aion’s world had shifted, and for the first time in a long while, the shape of his future felt less fixed—and infinitely more daunting.
In the city hums—a ceaseless tide,
Lives entwined, of paths that glide.
Over engines roar, and footsteps drum,
Voices lost, as hearts grow numb.
Each moment flickers, a fragile flame,
Yet Aion walks, untouched by name.
One vendor's flyer, a performer's tune,
Unseen sparks glimmer beneath the moon.
Knowledge lingers, a stranger's plea,
Gifts of time, or eternity?
