Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women

Chapter 779



His grip tightened around the phone.

His last clear memory before everything had shifted was… what? The room? The door? The choice?

Or had it been before that?

His thoughts raced, trying to stitch together the fragments.

Then another message came.

**Go to the park.**

Jude hesitated.

But then, as if his body had already decided before his mind could catch up, he found himself moving.

The streets blurred around him as he walked. The city felt both familiar and distant, like a memory he hadn't visited in a long time. No one seemed to notice him, as if he were just another passerby in the grand scheme of their lives.

When he reached the park, the sun was beginning its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The air was cooler here, carrying the scent of grass and earth. Children played in the distance, laughter echoing through the space.

Jude scanned the area.

At first, nothing stood out.

Then, near one of the benches, he saw someone.

A man, sitting with his hands clasped together, watching the world with unreadable eyes.

Jude didn't recognize him.

But something told him he was the reason he was here.

He took a step forward.

The man turned his head slightly, as if sensing him before actually seeing him. Then, slowly, he smiled.

"Jude."

Jude stopped.

His name rolled off the man's tongue with a familiarity that sent unease crawling up his spine.

"You're late," the man added, tilting his head. "But I suppose that's expected."

Jude swallowed. "Who are you?"

The man's smile didn't falter. "That's the real question, isn't it?"

Jude clenched his fists. "I don't have time for riddles."

The man chuckled. "Oh, but time is all you have now."

Jude exhaled sharply, frustration simmering beneath his skin. "Why did you tell me to come here?"

The man studied him for a moment before gesturing to the empty space on the bench beside him. "Sit."

Jude hesitated.

But then, against his better judgment, he sat.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The city moved around them, unaware of the quiet tension that hung in the air.

Then, finally, the man said, "You've been lost for a long time."

Jude didn't respond.

The man continued, his voice softer now. "You felt it, didn't you? The way things stopped making sense. The way the world bent around you."

Jude's fingers curled against his palm. "What are you talking about?"

The man turned to him then, his eyes darker than they had been before.

"You still think this is real?"

Jude's breath hitched.

The world around him felt solid. The bench beneath him was firm. The air was cool against his skin.

But hadn't he already questioned this?

Hadn't he already realized that something wasn't right?

The man leaned forward slightly. "You're still waking up, Jude."

A shiver ran through him.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "This… this is real."

The man smiled again, but this time, it was tinged with something almost sympathetic.

"If it were real," he said quietly, "wouldn't you remember how you got here?"

Jude opened his mouth—then froze.

The memory of walking here was fresh. He remembered the streets, the people, the way the sunlight had filtered through the buildings.

But before that?

What had he been doing before that?

His stomach twisted.

He turned sharply toward the man, his heart pounding. "What is this?"

The man exhaled, almost as if he had been waiting for this moment.

"A transition."

Jude's hands trembled.

"Between what?" he whispered.

The man met his gaze.

"You already know."

Jude shook his head, his breath uneven.

But deep down, in the part of himself he had been avoiding, he did know.

He had never left the white space.

The city, the park, the people—they weren't real.

They were just another layer of the illusion.

And the worst part?

He wasn't sure if he wanted to wake up.

Jude remained on the bench, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the last traces of sunlight melted into the city skyline. The man beside him didn't speak again, as if giving him time to process things at his own pace. But Jude wasn't sure he wanted time. He wanted answers.

With a sharp breath, he stood. His legs felt steady beneath him, his mind clear despite the lingering unease from their conversation. The city still moved around him, the distant hum of traffic, the laughter of children playing, the occasional bark of a dog carried by the wind. It was all real. It had to be.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, his fingers brushing against something small and metallic. His keys. His apartment keys. He exhaled. That was something concrete. He had a place. He had a life.

Without another word, he turned away from the man and started walking.

The streets stretched before him, familiar yet distant, like a memory he hadn't revisited in years. The neon signs flickered to life as the city transitioned into night. He navigated the roads instinctively, turning corners without thinking, his feet carrying him toward home.

When he reached his apartment building, he paused at the entrance. It was a modest place, old but well-maintained. The lobby smelled faintly of floor cleaner, and the elevator hummed as it ascended. He pressed the button for his floor and leaned against the wall, watching the numbers blink one by one.

His apartment was exactly as he had left it. The moment he stepped inside, he was greeted by the familiar scent of coffee and something faintly herbal—maybe the remnants of the tea he had brewed that morning. The lights flickered on with a soft glow, casting warm shadows against the walls.

He dropped his keys onto the counter and stood there for a moment, taking everything in. His couch, the books scattered on the coffee table, the faint hum of the refrigerator. It was all here.

And yet, something felt off.


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