Chapter 4 – Act 2
(Narrator)
More than a month had passed since the field trip. October had almost finished bleeding into November. It was Halloween.
Samuel wasn't allowed to attend school that day. Religious reasons. Rules he didn't choose. Explanations he was tired of repeating.
So he stayed home.
The hours passed slowly, dissolved into scrolling and empty distractions. Time felt thick, heavy, like fog. When the clock crept toward four—when school let out—Samuel put his phone down and stood up.
He went outside.
He told himself it was just a walk. Nothing more.
He headed toward the school anyway.
(Narrator)
As if seeing her again could change anything.
As if proximity could rewrite fate.
What Samuel needed was not her—but acceptance of himself. And he was nowhere near ready for that.
He spotted them quickly. The girl and Jannete rode past him on their bikes, wheels humming against the pavement. Jannete waved. Samuel waved back.
The girl didn't notice. Headphones on. Eyes forward.
They passed him like he wasn't there.
Samuel watched them ride away, then exhaled and turned forward again. Two of his friends appeared ahead, walking together. He joined them, asking casually what school had been like that day. They talked about costumes. About laughs. About someone dressed as a superhero.
A flicker of jealousy passed through Samuel's chest.
(Narrator)
It wasn't the candy he envied.
It wasn't the holiday.
It was the simple idea of belonging—of laughing with friends for one night without feeling like an observer.
After a while, Samuel went home.
Hours later, he stood by his window.
Outside, laughter echoed through the street. Costumes blurred past under orange streetlights. Groups moved together, loud and alive. Then Samuel noticed familiar faces.
Jordan. Others from school.
His friends.
Together.
Without him.
Samuel's chest tightened. He shut the window, drew the curtains, and collapsed onto his bed. The crying came quietly. No sobs. No sound. Just exhaustion.
(Narrator)
Being alone is one kind of pain.
Watching the people you care about thrive without you—that cuts deeper.
But this was only the beginning. Only a pause before something far worse emerged.
Two days later.
November second.
Night.
Samuel lay in bed when his phone exploded with notifications. He groaned and sat up. Messages from Jordan.
"Bro, check out all our Halloween posts."
Samuel hesitated. Then opened social media.
Post after post. Story after story. Over two hundred images of laughter, costumes, smiles frozen in time. People living lives he wasn't part of.
He scrolled.
And kept scrolling.
(Narrator)
This was how the hunger grew.
The need to belong.
The ache for connection.
A pit that never filled, only widened.
By three in the morning, Samuel's eyes burned. Tears slipped down his face unnoticed. His breathing slowed. The phone slipped from his hand.
He drifted.
Samuel opened his eyes.
He was still in his house—but something was wrong. The air felt heavier. Thicker. The silence pressed in. Then—
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The sound cut through everything.
Samuel's heart began to race.
The ticking grew louder.
"I KNOW YOU'RE THERE," Samuel shouted.
The sound stopped.
Behind him stood a figure.
A boy.
Hood up. Cap pulled low. Face hidden in shadow.
"Who are you?" Samuel demanded.
The boy didn't answer.
He turned slowly.
Samuel froze.
The face staring back at him was his own.
Samuel stumbled backward and ran. Through the house. Toward the door. Anywhere but here. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. This had to be a nightmare.
(Narrator)
They say dreams are messages from the mind—warnings carved from truth we refuse to face.
That night, Samuel did not meet a monster.
He met his shadow.
And now that it had found him—
There would be no running.
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END OF ACT 2:
THE BIRTH OF THE FOOLISH ARCHITECT