Lana’s arm went off at exactly 6:30 a.m., like a loyal little demon summoned from the depths of routine. She didn’t open her eyes right away. Instead, she groaned into her pillow and mumbled a heartfelt curse under her breath.

  “Five more minutes,” she whispered to no one.

  But five minutes had a habit of turning into ten, and ten minutes had a habit of turning into I’m going to be te(?_?). So with the strength of a soggy noodle, Lana rolled out of bed, feet hitting the floor with the grace of a woman who hadn’t done morning stretches since 2018(≡_≡).She went through her morning ritual: coffee, toast, and staring bnkly at the wall while chewing. It was a modest life, but it worked. Her apartment was small but tidy, her job stable if mildly soul-draining, and she’d finally gotten her rice cooker to stop beeping like it was about to unch into orbit.

  At 28, Lana had accepted that she was not the protagonist of a drama. She was the side character who gave good advice and had a surprisingly nice apartment.But somewhere, deep under the surface of spreadsheets and grocery lists, there was a quiet little voice. A voice that dreamed of forests and rivers, of walking barefoot in the grass, of exploring quiet vilges and cooking over an open fire under the stars. A life far away from elevator malfunctions and 9 a.m. meetings.

  Unfortunately, dreams didn’t pay rent.

  She checked the time. 7:52 a.m.

  “Oh no.”Lana jumped into her shoes like she was in an action movie montage and grabbed her bag. The elevator, as usual, was not working. It blinked at her like a smug little traitor.

  “Okay, stairs it is. Again.(︶︹︺)”

  She bolted down the stairwell, her bag bouncing on her shoulder and her brain still half-asleep. Her heels clicked loudly with each step—until one step wasn’t there.

  Her foot missed. Her bance wobbled. The world tilted.

  “Wha—”

  And then, nothing made sense.And then, nothing made sense.

  Instead of the jarring impact of concrete, Lana felt herself falling... but it was a different kind of fall. Slower. Stranger. Like she was being pulled through jelly—or possibly one of those slimy face masks she kept in her fridge.

  The wind brushed past her ears. Her heart thumped.

  “Am I… dead?(?? )” she asked aloud, mostly out of confusion. “Did I die in my office clothes? Is this how I become a workpce ghost?(?﹏?)”

  Then—

  Plop.She nded. Softly. Like a sack of mildly confused potatoes.

  Grass.

  She was lying in a field. The sky above her was bright blue, the kind of blue Lana had only seen in travel brochures. Trees rustled nearby, and the air smelled like flowers and fresh leaves—not city smoke and microwave lunches.

  She blinked. Once. Twice.

  “What... just happened?”

  The sky didn’t answer.What... just happened?”

  The sky didn’t answer.

  Lana sat up slowly, brushing grass off her skirt. Her bag was still with her. Her phone had one bar of signal. And her heart was doing that thing where it fluttered like a sparrow in a cup.

  “…So. Either I hit my head really hard,” she muttered, looking around, “or I’m very, very lost.”(?_?)

  And somewhere, in the back of her mind, that tiny dream whispered, Well, you did say you wanted to get out more.