˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖
Nineteen-year-old Namra had many things going for her—A razor-sharp tongue. A dramatic flair. And the unmatched talent of sleeping through five alarms like it was an Olympic sport.
She wasn't failing at life, per se. But if life had a scoreboard, hers definitely had ketchup stains and unanswered emails taped to it.
Her bedroom was a beautiful chaos of pastel mess—pink sticky notes slapped across her mirror, half-finished sketchbooks under the bed, a mountain of laundry that probably had its own ecosystem. Her bedsheets were wrinkled and star-patterned, matching the sticker-covered laptop that blinked faintly at the edge of her desk. In the corner, her hoodie hung on a hook like a ghost giving up.
Namra, hair bubblegum-pink and tied up in a loose knot, hunched over a textbook with all the grace of a melting candle. Her cheek rested against her palm, highlighter dangling from her fingers. She hadn't blinked in twenty seconds.
"Mitochondria... is the powerhouse of the—why do I care?" she mumbled, eyes twitching. "If I fail this biology exam, I'm becoming a moon priestess or a dragon's assistant. I'm over it."
She flipped the page dramatically, as if it had personally betrayed her.
Her phone buzzed. Another meme from her best friend, Yuri.
"Me walking into the exam room like I've read a book before."
Namra chuckled, sent back a photo of herself mid-eye roll, and tossed her phone across the room. It landed—miraculously—in her laundry basket. She raised her arms like a tired champion.
"Three points to House Don't-Give-A-Damn."
Instead of studying, she slumped onto her floor with her laptop and rewatched her comfort show—Galactic Hearts: Neon Love and Laser Knives. The same episode for the fourth time. Spaceships exploded. The heroine delivered dramatic speeches. The male lead brooded near space windows with arms crossed and tears glimmering.
Namra narrated the scenes in a deep, over-the-top voice.
"Captain Zairo, we can't keep pretending love doesn't exist in space—"
"Mira, our love is a black hole. Beautiful. But destructive."
Namra threw popcorn into the air and caught none of it. "God, I love garbage."
Later, she texted her group chat:
Namra: I can't focus.
Yuri: Go to sleep!
Jisoo: Eat chocolate.
Sunho: Or let the knowledge enter ur soul through osmosis.
Namra: If I sleep under the textbook, will it count as absorption.
Sunho: Only if you snore in Latin.
She smiled softly, warmth blooming in her chest. As stressful as everything was, her friends had a way of tugging her back down to Earth.
Still, there was a strange pressure behind her eyes, like she was half-asleep inside her own body. Her limbs felt heavy. Her breath came slower.
Like the universe was... folding.
Or waiting.
But she shook it off. Just another exam-season hallucination, probably.
Namra got up, stretched like a lazy cat, and muttered to herself, "Okay. One more hour of productivity. Or whatever chaos happens instead."
And chaos, as it turns out, was already in motion. Just not the kind she was ready for.
˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖
The train ride to her parents' house was slow and sleepy—muted gray skies hanging low above the windows like forgotten thoughts. Namra leaned her head against the glass, earbuds in, watching the world blur past. Her pink hair, tied into a loose braid, trailed over her hoodie like soft candy floss. She played her favorite playlist—mostly soft piano music layered under lo-fi beats—and pretended, for a moment, that life wasn't a never-ending quiz she didn't study for.
By the time she reached the neighborhood, it was nearly dusk. The small apartment building smelled the same: old wooden floors, steamed rice, and a faint trace of detergent. She walked up the stairs, skipping the creaky one on the third step like she always did. Her key turned with a familiar click.
"Namra?" her mother called from the kitchen, the sound wrapped in the hiss of oil and the clatter of pots.
Namra kicked off her shoes and answered with a yawn. "Yeah, yeah. Your favorite daughter has returned."
"I only have one daughter," came the dry reply.
"Exactly. That's why I'm your favorite." Her mother snorted.
The kitchen was warm and hazy with steam. The window was fogged, and the fluorescent light above the stove buzzed like it had secrets. A pot of rice cooked unevenly while her mother tried to stir two things at once. Namra padded over and peered into one of the bubbling pots.
"You're burning the rice again," she said.
"I know." Her mother didn't look up. "You'll eat it anyway."
She would. She always did.
They sat at the kitchen table as the food settled—rice that stuck together like guilt, kimchi stew that warmed the tongue and the chest, and eggs slightly too brown on the edges. Her father sat in his recliner nearby, arms folded, eyes closed—but Namra knew he wasn't fully asleep. He made a little "hmph" every time the conversation got interesting.
"I found your old drawings the other day," her mom said suddenly.
Namra groaned. "The alien invasion comics?"
"You really thought you were going to save the world with glitter glue and jellybean-powered weapons."
"Hey, they were explosive jellybeans. Ihad lore."
Her mom laughed quietly, and Namra found herself smiling despite the tired ache in her bones. The quiet moments like these—awkward, unglamorous, but stitched together with something real—were rarer now. She didn't visit as often as she used to. Exams, group projects, bad sleep, late trains.
"You've always been like that," her mom said. "Even as a kid, you'd rather make up a galaxy than sit still in class."
Namra took a sip of water. "Well... reality's never been my strong point."
Her mother looked at her with something soft in her expression—like nostalgia mixed with worry.
"Just don't forget to come back to it, sometimes."
There was a weight in those words that Namra didn't fully understand yet.
She looked down at her half-eaten rice. "Yeah," she muttered, pushing the grains around with her spoon. "I'll try."
Her father stirred and grumbled from the living room, "If you'd study instead of building alien jellybean weapons, maybe you'd pass physics."
"I am passing physics," Namra called back. "Barely. Like a true academic warrior."
She saw the corner of his mouth twitch in a ghost of a smirk.
For a little while, they all existed in that gentle limbo of a late evening: warmth from food, the hum of distant traffic, old childhood magnets still clinging to the fridge, and the feeling of being held by something quieter than love—but just as deep.
And later, when she'd remember this night, it wouldn't be the taste of the rice or the flicker of the lightbulb that stayed with her.
It would be the sound of her mother's laughter, layered beneath the echo of home.
˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖
The city had that sleepy, humming quiet it only got past ten at night. Streetlights buzzed. The sky was a purplish smear above the rooftops. And Namra? She was exactly where any exhausted college girl would be at this hour: in a corner store, carrying the weight of an existential crisis and a plastic shopping basket.
Her hoodie was oversized, sleeves hanging past her hands like she was being swallowed whole. Pink hair tucked behind her ears, mismatched socks, and an expression that screamed: I don't want to be here but if I don't buy snacks, I will perish.
She dragged her basket down the dim aisle like it owed her money.
The essentials were already there—instant noodles (three flavors), two strawberry milks, a chocolate bar that was most likely melted, and a travel-size bottle of dry shampoo because hygiene was hanging by a thread.
She paused at the "seasonal" section, which was currently themed around stars and moons. Galaxy-print notebooks, moon-shaped plushies, and socks embroidered with constellations sat on the shelves like forgotten wishes. Namra picked up a pair with tiny glowing planets and held them to her chest like they were sacred.
"I may never pass biology," she whispered, "but at least my feet will be cosmic."
In the background, an old radio played soft jazz mixed with static. The cashier didn't look up as she walked past—a boy around her age, with tired eyes and a name tag that said Seojin (probably). He was busy staring blankly at a rotating display of chewing gum, like it had personally offended him.
Namra stood in line behind an elderly woman buying four lighters and a single potato. She waited. And waited. And glanced at the mirror near the cigarette display.
That's when she saw it.
In the reflection, the world behind her flickered. Not the lights. Not the aisles. The entire store. For a second—just one—she swore she saw stars. Dozens. No, hundreds. Hanging behind her like a sky had cracked open inside the walls.
Then it was gone.
She blinked rapidly.
Okay. No more strawberry milk after midnight. Lesson learned.
When it was her turn, she placed her things on the counter, careful not to crush the socks.
The cashier didn't say much. He scanned each item with robotic slowness.
But when he handed her the receipt, he looked up—and smiled faintly.
"Sweet dreams," he said.
Namra hesitated. Something about his tone made her stomach twist. Not in a flirty way. Not even in a he-knows-my-name way.
It was like he knew something she didn't.
She laughed awkwardly, gripping the plastic bag a little tighter. "Dreams? I don't even get naps anymore."
He said nothing else.
On her way out, the security mirror above the exit glitched again. For a single breath of a moment, her reflection wasn't moving the way she did.
Namra froze.
But when she turned around, the world was normal again. Pale tile. Buzzing lights. A squeaky ceiling fan and the scent of instant coffee.
She exhaled.
"Yeah, no," she muttered, stepping into the night. "Definitely too sleep-deprived. If a portal opens up, I'm not going through it unless there's wi-fi."
The stars blinked silently above her, as if exchanging glances.
And somewhere behind the clouds, the universe made a note.
˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖
Namra had just pulled the blanket over her head like a universal shield against exams, responsibilities, and existential dread. She sighed into her pillow.
"I'll wake up early," she lied to herself. "I'll study. I'll be productive. I'll—"
Sleep took her before the sentence could finish.
And then—SNAP.
Eyes open. Heart racing. Wind. Cold. A weightless gut-sinking feeling.
"Oh, what the—" she gasped, only to realize there was no mattress beneath her. No room. No ceiling. No floor.
Only sky. Only air. And she was falling.
From very high up.
Her limbs flailed in pure cartoon panic as she tried to make sense of it.
"I swear I was in bed literally ten seconds ago!"
The wind was screaming. Or maybe that was her. Hard to tell. Her pink hair whipped in every direction like it had its own panic mode. Her sleep shirt was plastered to her frame from the wind resistance. The pair of moon-print pajama pants she wore rippled in the air like a flag in a hurricane.
She flipped upside-down. Then sideways. Then did a full 360 spin like a chaotic ballerina falling off a space-themed carousel.
"OKAY. BREATHE. BREATHE. WE'RE NOT PANICKING—WE ARE GRACEFULLY DESCENDING INTO A MID-LIFE FANTASY COLLAPSE."
But when she looked around, her breath caught—not in terror, but awe.
The sky wasn't black. It was velvet-blue, drenched in stars that pulsed with strange life. Some blinked like fireflies, others moved slowly, drifting like floating lanterns. Constellations curved in unfamiliar shapes. Planets the size of moons loomed nearby, casting soft gold shadows.
It wasn't just the stars—It was what floated between them.
Creatures. Dozens of them.
Not birds. Not angels. Not anything Namra had ever seen on Earth.
They shimmered like they were drawn with light and memory, their wings arcing wide and pure, their eyes glowing white like distant galaxies. Some resembled wolves with antlers made of moonlight. Others looked like whales carved from crystal, swimming through sky like sea.
One of them even flew close enough for Namra to see its feathers—each glowing like a glass shard dipped in starlight.
"Oh wow..." she whispered, arms flailing a little less.
The surreal beauty of it nearly made her forget she was falling to her possible death.
Then the silence broke.
A distant voice—deep, strange, almost amused—rippled through the air like it came from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"She falls like a comet. How very... human."
Namra shrieked.
"WHO SAID THAT? SHOW YOURSELF, YOU GLOWING INTERGALACTIC NARRATOR!"
But the voice didn't return. Just the rush of air. The weightlessness.
Then her eyes caught movement below her.
Land. Shimmering, ethereal land.
A forest of silver trees, all glowing with white veins that pulsed with energy. Rivers of light coiled between roots. The treetops looked soft from up high, like cotton soaked in starlight. A faint mist hovered over the entire expanse, and somewhere in the distance—floating just above the trees—was a curved bridge made of translucent crystal.
Namra blinked.
"Okay. Either I'm inside a dream... or I got abducted by aliens who really like Pinterest."
She twisted mid-air again.
"OH MY GOD, THIS IS HOW ALICE FELT WHEN SHE FELL—EXCEPT SHE HAD A DRESS AND A TEA PARTY WAITING. ALL I HAVE IS AN UNPAID PHONE BILL AND UNFINISHED HOMEWORK—"
Her voice cracked as the glowing forest grew closer.
"CAN SOMEONE PLEASE PUT A CELESTIAL TRAMPOLINE DOWN THERE OR SOMETHING?"
There was no trampoline. No rescue. Just gravity and the universe spiraling around her like a broken music box.
And despite everything—the fear, the confusion, the chaos—something deep inside Namra sparked.
Not dread. Wonder. Terrifying, gorgeous, ridiculous wonder.
"Alright, universe," she muttered, bracing herself for impact. "You win. Just make sure I land somewhere with snacks."
𐔌 . ⋮ Author's Note .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱
First chapter out, i was rushing so none of this is proofread. My friends kept talking about how good Kpop demon hunters was and i watched it the other day. Jinu is so fine like literally, so i figured why not write a fanfic.
Let me know your opinions, and don't hesitate to point out a misspelling or error.
Make sure to leave a comment and vote, those keeps me motivated. Have a great day/night, and most of all stay safe.