The beginning of an ordinary, unremarkable day. As the sun began to rise, marking an early morning. The light from the sun fell on the window of an unremarkable house, among the many other houses in England. Breaking through the clear glass into the interior of one of the bedrooms. On the bedside table, next to neatly folded, thin-rimmed glasses and an unpretentious book, was a telephone that came to life, emitting its usual loud tune. It sounded exactly as an alarm clock should: loud enough to wake its owner.
Under the white blanket, someone stirred. The man's hand reached for the phone, fumbled blindly for it, and in one motion habitually muted it, returning the room to its morning silence. Before getting up, he let himself lie on the bed for about 3-5 minutes as usual, looking up at the ceiling, turning his head slightly as if looking for something. Sighing he sat down on the edge of the bed, and fumbled for his glasses. Putting them on, he blinked a few times, letting his eyes get used to the clarity. When the world took shape, he saw a cozily furnished room in beige tones. By modern standards, the interior of the room would be a little old, but it suited the man. He squared his shoulders and put on his dark green slippers.
With the start of a new day, the man went about his morning ritual as usual, a ritual he'd been following for years. Beginning with a light warm-up, which included careful head turns, shoulder stretches, two awkward bends, and the obligatory crunch in his lower back that signaled the end of the warm-up. Afterward, a trip to the bathroom. Where he brushed his teeth and facial in absolute silence. He couldn't stand brushing his teeth to music, unlike his daughter, who managed to dance with a brush in her mouth. Youth, what can I say? He could only shake his head. Thankfully he got up early and he did not have to watch the morning dance to the unbearable "boom-boom-boom-boom" in the bathroom, from which even the cup in the kitchen shook. He finished tidying himself up and refreshed his face with cool water - not too cold, but invigorating enough to wake up finally. Then glanced in the mirror. In the reflection he was looking at an older man, with black hair with little visible gray, and wrinkles beginning to show on his face.
"You're getting old Iniesto." The man mumbled sluggishly to himself before wiping his face with a towel and leaving the bathroom.
He made his way to the kitchen along his usual route, looking around the hallway with his eyes for something that only he could see, but not him, he exhaled quietly.
However, as he passed the bedroom door, with a round-shaped sign hanging from it that read "Sophie" in multicolored letters. When the door opened, he stopped.
His daughter emerged from her bedroom, wearing a T-shirt with a print of a character from an Asian game - about which Iniesto knew little - and baggy pants with her hair askew - or rather a nest on her head - and a face that reflected a longing for bed. Slippers with a distinctive "slap-slap-slap" carried her slowly down the hallway, more like a sluggish zombie than the vivacious young woman he was used to seeing in the mornings.
"Happy morning." She whispered, not even opening her eyes, and continued her slow march to the bathroom.
Iniesto followed her gaze, sighed heavily, and shook his head. Most likely she had been on her phone until two in the morning watching videos or typing messages in messengers. She had five apps, by the way. He still could not understand the youth fashion to have several applications for sending messages at once. And even more so to sit up until late at night, only to get up in the morning to curse Soltse for faithfully performing his duties: to appear every morning. Mol could have shown up two hours later.
"And this is called 'youth'..." he muttered under his breath. "And why torture your body like that?"
He shook his head, but there was a warm crease at the corner of his eyes, the kind that only appeared when he saw someone near and dear to him. The one he had left from his old family life, when it was just the three of them in the kitchen in the mornings - and they always woke up on time.
The man turned and walked further into the kitchen, where coffee and toast were waiting for him.
He walked leisurely into the kitchen and began to prepare breakfast for both of them. His daughter, most likely waking up earlier than usual, would not be in the mood to even fry eggs with any tomatoes for herself. At most, she'd take some cereal and pour milk on it. Putting two sliced loaves of bread on the toaster, turning on the stove and putting on a kettle of water, he began to perform the wonders of his father's cooking. Pouring some sunflower oil into a skillet, swirling it around so that the thin oil covered the entire area before putting it on the fire. Meanwhile while the pan was heating up, took a couple of tomatoes and cut them into small chunks and put them in the pan, quickly closing the lid. Iniesto watched through the clear lid as the oil around the tomatoes began to sizzle gently, splashing across the lid. After a few minutes, when the sizzling stopped, he cracked a couple eggs, and added them on top, sprinkling a little whisper of salt, stirring them in between. The resulting dish should have a good medium rare. A sort of golden mean, as his daughter likes it.
When the kettle boiled, Iniesto did not, as usual, make one mug of coffee. Instead, he took out a second one, slightly chipped around the edge, inscribed "Lo mejor del mundo: papá" - an old gift he cherished, even if it was rarely drunk from. And brewed another mug of coffee, intended for his daughter. She could certainly use a mug of invigorating coffee.
While the infusion was steeping, the toaster gave its customary "Jing!" - signaling that two browned slices were ready. He deftly took them out without burning himself, placed them on his plate. Then set them on the table, next to his mug of coffee. When everything was ready, he took a step back and surveyed everything like a conductor assessing the arranged instruments before a concert: A toast? - Check. Scrambled eggs? - In place, with tomatoes, just the way she likes them. Coffee? - Not without it. Daughter? - he heard the girl's shuffling footsteps coming this way. Then, as if waiting for something to happen, he looked around the kitchen, listening to the sounds around him.
With a satisfied nod, the man began to eat his breakfast. Carefully he spread butter on his toast and began to eat, washing it down with coffee. A few moments later, a girl appeared, looking a little more lively. She sat down on the table, and looked at the mug, seeing coffee in place of the usual black tea. She glanced at her father.
"You could use it." He answered her mute question.
"Thank you."
He saw her start to add sugar. She'd always had a sweet tooth, didn't like bitter coffee. Taking a sip she wrinkled her nose and added more sugar. Iniesto just shook his head.
"Listen Sophie. If you had gone to bed earlier I wouldn't have made you coffee." he rebuked her gently.
The girl only mumbled something inaudible, usually grudgingly admitting that she was right. She took another sip, tasting it, and nodded approvingly. Apparently, the balance between sweet and bitter had finally been reached.
"Now that's drinkable." she said quietly. Then she pulled her phone out of her pocket and put it in front of her, poking it a few times, including a video on an app called YouTube.
Iniesto only shook his head.
"What is it this time?" he asked more out of politeness than being genuinely interested.
"Reviewing a horror game." Sophie yawned. "A new video came out yesterday and I didn't get to finish watching it. Now I'm catching up." she said, keeping her eyes on the screen of her smartphone.
The man once again shook his head.
"I hope you don't take that habit with you. You'll have enough sleepless nights at university as it is."
Sophie wrinkled her nose, took another sip of coffee and set the mug on the table with a quiet clatter.
"Please Dad don't remind me..." she muttered, with a dose of laziness. She was eating with much less appetite now.
She was going to have a hard time, they both realized that. Studying was one of Sophie's least favorite things to do. Even so, she'd managed to graduate with honors, which had gotten her into university. Quite prestigious, by the way. Inescito was proud of his daughter, but he couldn't help but feel that nagging sense of separation. Soon she would have to leave for another city, far from home. He looked at her, almost grown up, and suddenly caught himself wondering how his parents had felt when he himself had once left in the same way, full of naive enthusiasm, self-confidence, and a strange sense of freedom that made him dizzy. He was suddenly curious if his parents had experienced a similar feeling. He remembered that day well:
A heavy suitcase, new shoes given to him by his parents, and a rare but well-functioning mechanical watch. His father tried to make awkward jokes to lighten the sad atmosphere. And his mother hugged him more than necessary.
"Don't forget to eat normally. Don't forget hygiene. And write to us, okay?" pronounced his mother, who looked at him with a sad smile.
"If there are money problems, you can always sell the watch expensively." said his father.
He didn't understand them then. It seemed to him that they were exaggerating. What's the drama?
He's not going to the end of the world.
On the contrary, just for a few years of study, with the possibility of coming back in the summer. And they looked at him as if they were saying goodbye forever. But now, looking at Sophie, for the first time he truly understood how they felt.
And as if gathering his thoughts he asked:
"When are you leaving?"
"After tomorrow, in the morning." she said sadly.
"Tomorrow is my day off," he said a little more cheerfully, trying to inject a note of fun. "So we can spend the day together. A farewell, so to speak."
He leaned forward, and with a half smile told her.
"Let's order a pizza and watch your, uh what was it called?" he squinted, trying to remember that weird, ornate unique Asian cartoon name.
"Anime dads." she reminded with a smile.
"That's right! Anime!" He snapped his fingers. "We'll watch what you like, have a marathon."
Sophie faltered a little at his words.
"Am... Dad, I sure appreciate it, but I don't think that 'High School Musical', 'High School for the Dead', or let's say 'Mad Azar' would be a good fit for you" she said awkwardly.
Iniesto folded his hands in front of him seriously.
"I'm ready for specific humor, and an unconventional approach to the plot. I'm emotionally ready for what's on the screen. And given the titles, I think your suggestions could be quite interesting."
Sophie bit her lip, as if struggling between laughter and embarrassment.
"Believe me dad what you're going to see is going to be many times abnormal than what you're expecting." she said with a smile. "I think I could pick up an anime, just for you. I already have a few anime that you might like.
Iniesto had no choice but to nod.
"I guess I'll trust your choice."
When breakfast came to an end, Sophie finished her coffee, stood up and stretched her body, exhaling softly with a satisfied "mmm". For a second, Iniesto saw not a young girl, but the same little girl who every morning - after a good breakfast - copied her mother, stretching with a smile. It had become a habit of hers from the time when her mother was still with them. Iniesto looked at her with warmth and slight sadness, not interrupting the silence. Without saying anything she put her dirty dishes in the sink, washed them and set them on the counter. Then walked out of the hallway and headed to her room to finish packing her things into her suitcase. Now he was alone.
He was supposed to finish his breakfast in complete silence, but suddenly he heard a notification sound similar to that of telephones, sounding so clear and so close as if he were wearing headphones. But Iniesto didn't look around, didn't check his phone for notifications, just sighed quietly as if he knew what he was going to see. And indeed - in front of his gaze appeared almost transparent, rectangular square, the color of blue sky. Like a hologram taken from a science fiction movie. It shimmered in front of his face, hanging in the air. And inside it was written:
[Waiting for streamer stream user. For activations, say "Accepted."].
Iniesto sighed quietly.
"I was hoping I'd gotten rid of you." sullenly finishing his coffee, he stood up and put his dishes in the sink. Then he opened the top cabinet and took out a packet of pills. Pulling out the plastic inside, half empty, he pressed one of the capsules and pulled out a pill. He gave it a chalky glance before tossing it into his mouth and drinking some water.
Taking a sip, the man glanced at the hallucination again, and again as before decided to ignore it, distracting himself with household chores. He immediately began washing the dishes, moving on automatic, letting his thoughts replay the events in his mind, replaying the moment when it had first appeared before him.
That day was nothing special. A simple evening of rest after a tired day's work. He returned to work as usual. He changed into comfortable home clothes. As usual, he poured himself a cup of relaxing tea, turned on the phone for another movie session, and when it seemed that nothing out of the ordinary should happen. But suddenly he heard a sound suspiciously similar to a notification, but definitely not from his phone, and immediately this affliction appeared in front of him. Then he almost fell off his chair with surprise, but he held on. At first he thought that what was happening was a banal dream, maybe he fell asleep at the table, but this thought was disproved. By himself, because what was happening was real, too real to be a dream. Then he thought it was just a dream, or maybe he'd lost his nerve. He warned his daughter by sending her a message. He immediately went to the doctors. They politely listened to him and explained to him the cause of his ailment.
"Most likely," one of them said then, leafing through the medical history, "it's caused by overexertion. It happens at your age. Stress, insomnia, even the light from screens can trigger visual hallucinations. It's not dangerous. But still..." Then he was prescribed pills - mild tranquilizers and mild neuroleptics, and he even bought a sedative, just in case. Hell knows what could happen to him.
When he got home, his daughter bombarded him with questions, immediately meeting him at the doorstep. He felt something clench inside him. Seeing how much he made her worry about him. She was already about to leave, and she was probably worried enough as it was. And he... with this affliction of his, he'd only made it worse.
From then on, he tried to stick to his medication schedule, and to exert himself as little as possible. Sometimes he thought the hallucination was gone, but then it reappeared, dashing his hopes. Making him less and less sure he'd ever be cured. And so two weeks passed, Iniesto no longer hoped it would go away. The hallucination - or whatever it was - had become almost habitual. He still tried not to interact with it, or even look at it unnecessarily. It had become something of a routine. When it didn't appear, he would ask himself: "Well? Where is it?" In slight anticipation of when it would appear, running his eyes back and forth, only to be disappointed again when it did. And so it goes on and on.
He didn't want to admit it to himself, but gradually he got used to it. Like getting used to an insufferable neighbor. At least this hovering square didn't inconvenience him, just appeared out of nowhere, and hovered around him, not making him do strange things, not trying to contact him, and especially not tormenting his mind, not causing a schizophrenic attack. For that, he was even grateful to a certain extent. He read various articles related to hallucinations, and what he read made him feel anxious. So compared to the stories he'd come across in medical journals and forums - his case was almost perfect.
He wiped his hands on a towel, putting the last plate away in the drying rack. His gaze slid sideways - and sure enough, the square was still there. Hovering quietly off to the side, as if waiting.
Iniesto snorted and shook his head:
"Well, stay there, if that's what you want."
He turned, heading for his bedroom.
And before he would have thought himself crazy....
Entering the room, Iniesto opened the closet, carefully pulled out an ironed shirt and a gray vest. Following them - dark pants and an old, but favorite jacket. The hat was already on the dresser, waiting for its time. It didn't take long to change. First the shirt - slowly, methodically buttoning the buttons from top to bottom. Then the vest. He adjusted the collar, tugged at the fabric. Then the pants, the belt, the jacket. Everything fit perfectly, as it should for a man accustomed to order. He was the kind of man who believed that appearance should first of all be to your own liking.
At last he took his hat and put it on his head. The mirror reflected the stern silhouette of a grown man, no longer young, but still trim, with a proud posture. He stood for a second, gazing into his reflection.
"All right, Iniesto. Onward to the mail front," he muttered under his breath and grinned tiredly.
Before leaving, he glanced once more into the hallway, checking: keys? - Got them. Wallet? - in place. Handkerchiefs? - Three, as always: one for his nose, one for the sweat on his face, and finally a third in case someone needed it. This little kit's already become a family joke.
Finally, he put on his shoes, threw on a light coat, and walked out of the house, closing the door carefully behind him. Outside, he was greeted by fresh morning air and a light mist drifting across the pavement.
The workday was beginning.
And somewhere nearby, a blue rectangular screen floated as always, hanging off to the side like an invisible satellite.
Iniesto wasn't even surprised.
"Like walking a dog." he muttered without turning around.
And walked to the bus stop.