Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women

His breath caught in his throat.

This wasn't possible.

He had buried this memory, buried her.

She smiled, tilting her head slightly, as if waiting for him to say something.

"I…" The words wouldn't come.

She patted the spot beside her, an invitation.

His feet moved before he could stop them. He sat down, the bed dipping slightly under his weight. She was real. Solid. He could feel the warmth of her presence beside him.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, finally, she broke the silence.

"You've been running."

Jude's fingers curled against his palm. He looked down at them, feeling the tension in his body grow heavier.

"I don't know what's real anymore," he admitted.

She hummed softly. "Does it matter?"

He looked at her then, really looked at her. She hadn't changed, not in the way time should have made inevitable. Her hair still fell in soft waves around her shoulders, her eyes still held that quiet understanding.

"You're not supposed to be here," he whispered.

She smiled. "Neither are you."

His stomach twisted.

She reached out then, her fingers brushing against his hand. The touch was warm, grounding, and yet it sent a shiver down his spine.

"You've always been good at hiding things from yourself," she said. "But this? This isn't something you can run from forever."

Jude swallowed. "What is this?"

She sighed, a sound laced with something unreadable. "A choice."

The word hung in the air between them.

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stood, moving toward the window. The golden light bathed her in a soft glow, making her seem almost ethereal.

"Tell me," she said after a moment. "If you wake up, what will you do?"

Jude frowned. "Wake up?"

She turned to face him, and for the first time since he had stepped into the room, something in her expression shifted. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but it sent a cold realization crawling down his spine.

He had been thinking it all along. That maybe this was a dream. That maybe none of this was real.

But what if—

What if it wasn't?

His hands clenched. His breathing came quicker.

She took a step closer. "If you wake up, Jude… what will you do?"

His mind spun. He tried to think of an answer, but the truth was, he didn't know. He had been drifting for so long, lost in something he couldn't name, unable to move forward but too afraid to look back.

Her gaze softened. "Then maybe that's the real question."

Silence stretched between them.

Jude exhaled slowly. He looked past her, out the window. The sky outside was shifting, colors blending and twisting in ways that defied logic.

A choice.

That was what she had called it.

But what was he choosing between?

He looked back at her, and for the first time, he saw it.

The faint edges of something unraveling.

She wasn't meant to be here.

And neither was he.

The realization settled in his chest, heavy and undeniable.

He took a breath.

Then, quietly, he said, "I think it's time."

She smiled, but there was sadness in it.

"I know."

The world around him shuddered.

The room blurred at the edges.

And then, everything faded to white.

Jude felt the weightlessness before he felt anything else. It was like floating in a vast, empty space, where time had no meaning and the world had no edges. His body wasn't heavy, nor was it light—it simply was. The whiteness stretched endlessly around him, neither cold nor warm, neither welcoming nor hostile. It simply existed, and he existed within it.

His thoughts came sluggishly at first, like echoes bouncing off unseen walls. He remembered the room. He remembered her. He remembered the way she had looked at him with that knowing sadness, the way her voice had carried something unspoken beneath the words.

And he remembered his choice.

The moment he acknowledged it, the emptiness shifted. The white faded into something darker, something less infinite. Shapes began forming—at first vague, then clearer, as if reality was knitting itself back together around him. A floor materialized beneath his feet, firm and solid. A breeze stirred the air, carrying with it scents that were achingly familiar.

Then, sound.

The distant murmur of voices. The rustling of leaves. The hum of a world moving forward.

Jude blinked.

He was standing in a place he knew.

The city stretched around him, bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. Buildings rose in uneven clusters, a mix of modern glass towers and older brick structures that bore the weight of history in their worn facades. The streets were busy but not overwhelming, filled with the steady rhythm of life—cars moving, people talking, the occasional distant bark of a dog.

This was real.

Or at least, it felt real.

Jude inhaled, the scent of concrete and warm air filling his lungs. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no distortion, no warping at the edges of his vision. The world wasn't shifting beneath his feet. It was steady. Tangible.

He turned, his eyes scanning the street. Something in him expected to see her, standing there, watching. But she wasn't.

Of course, she wasn't.

She had never really been there, had she?

Jude ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly.

Then, as if on cue, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

He frowned, pulling it out. The screen lit up, displaying a message.

**Are you back?**

He stared at the words for a long moment.

The sender's name was missing, just an empty space where it should have been.

A chill ran down his spine, but he forced himself to type a response.

**Who is this?**

The reply came almost instantly.

**You know who.**

Jude swallowed.

His fingers hovered over the screen before he finally typed:

**Where am I?**

This time, there was a pause. Then—

**Exactly where you left.**