The Universe Beyond Ours

Chapter 1 (Part 1)

     As Denis glanced at the clock, a sigh escaped him. Darkness enveloped every nook of his bedroom, yet he remained seated, immersed in the radiant glow of his drawing tablet. Hours of meticulous strokes had etched a weariness onto his face, his eyes shadowed by the day's artistic endeavours. He leaned back, the cool surface of the stylus pen meeting his tired fingers as he continued to craft.

The weight of the day lingered in the room, casting a subtle haze over his work. A shadow danced beneath his eyes, a testament to the toil poured into his latest creation. Unfazed by the fading light outside, Denis traced his thoughts onto the digital canvas, his movements a dance of dedication and exhaustion. A brief pause, a tired rub of his face, and onward he pressed.

     With a final tap on the tablet, his signature emerged, a mark of completion on the masterpiece before him. A final highlight brought the artwork to life, the culmination of endless hours and unwavering focus. And just like that, with a flourish and a breath, it was finished.

Denis? Denis! Dinner's ready!" a woman's voice echoed from downstairs, its gentle urgency seeping through the closed door and into Denis' ears.

     A loud rumble reverberates in Denis' stomach, with a gentle ache nudging him to soothe it with a rub. Hunger calls, Denis. Why postpone the feast that beckons you? But first, the online world beckons.

     Denis exports his vibrant art piece from the drawing software, sharing it on Instagram and other platforms. With a tap, his masterpiece joins the digital realm. Engrossed, he delves into a scroll through his phone, tracing his artistic journey back to 2018. The echoes of past likes, scarcely breaching 5, resonate with the present—a constant in the ebb and flow of online reception.

     As he swipes through, a pause draws his attention to his follower count. Grateful for each one, Denis can't help but ponder over the modest number—12 faithful souls amassed over three years of digital toil. Later, seated at the dining table with his parents, Michaela and Robert, Denis finds himself face-to-face with the anticipated meal. The aroma dances around him, urging him to partake. Without further ado, he dives in, savouring a comforting mouthful of soup.

"My goodness. More infections in our town. It seems to climb each passing day," Michaela, Denis' mother, voiced, her concern palpable in the tremor of her words.

     Michaela, akin to many mothers in their place, adorned her shoulder-length hair, a lustrous chestnut cascade framing her features. Her lightly sun-kissed skin complemented eyes reminiscent of hazelnuts, a warm gaze that often mirrored her caring nature. Clad in light summer dresses or occasionally capri pants paired with a blouse, she exuded an understated elegance in her attire.

Robert paused mid-chew, swallowing before responding, "It's a challenging time, no doubt. The escalating virus cases reported in the news are indeed troubling."

     Robert, Michaela's husband, boasts a pallid complexion that starkly contrasts with his raven-coloured hair. His eyes, akin to smouldering coals in a field of darkness, shimmer with an intense depth. A sparse goatee adorns his chin, the only hint of facial hair on his otherwise smooth cheeks. Preferring simplicity, he typically opts for unassuming shirts, occasionally favouring tank tops paired with knee-length shorts.

"Ain't I just glad?" Denis scoffed, his eyes rolling as he let out a sigh.

"Denis!?" Michaela gasped, her brows knitting in concern.

What mischief has Denis stirred up? It's evident his mother isn't pleased by his words.

"What's wrong with that? I'm just relieved there are no in-person classes. Honestly, I can't stand them," Denis clarified, raising a bemused eyebrow.

     Michaela and Robert shared a silent exchange, their expressions fraught with concern, unable to voice their thoughts. In their eyes, Denis might appear as just another lazy teenager, unaware of the deeper currents at play. With a nonchalant shrug, Denis opts for silence, focusing on savouring his Sinigang na Manok soup in peace rather than engaging in explanations.

     After the family dinner concludes, Denis retreats to his bedroom. Nestled on his bed, he ponders the absence of close companions, a question that lingers until the introduction of Drew alters the narrative. Amidst his contemplation, a notification chimes from his phone, prompting an immediate check.

"It's Drew!" Denis gasped internally, a radiant smile illuminating the darkness of his room.

     When Denis had unleashed a flurry of energetic paragraphs in their chat hours earlier, Drew had only just replied with a few messages, despite being active online for the past three hours. Glancing at the clock, Denis noted it was still early in the night. Without hesitation, he swiftly crafted a response on Messenger.

"Hey, Drew! How's it going?" Denis greeted.

"SLR! SLR! Apologies for the delay, bro! I got caught up. I'm all good," Drew replied. "And you?"

"Doing well, too!" Denis typed back. "Hey, you won't believe what just happened!"

Denis and Drew chatted for a minute before eventually bidding farewell to each other.

"Alright, bro. I have to jump off now. Dishes are calling my name," Drew messaged.

"Got it! Take care!" Denis replied.

     After their brief exchange, Denis scanned his notifications, finding no fresh updates. A quick glance at Instagram revealed no likes on his latest post, prompting a resigned sigh before he made his way to his home office. Denis' refuge awaited him, a space nurtured by his supportive parents.

     Though his audience might be modest, the unwavering backing from his family provided a steadfast pillar. Within this creative haven, he delved into his sketchbook, revisiting past drawings before embarking on a new creation. Yet, as his pencil danced across the page, unwelcome thoughts intruded, a solitary tear marking the paper. Sniffling, Denis closed the sketchbook, leaving the office behind.

Downstairs, amidst the clinks of dishes being washed and the gentle swipes on the marble counter, Michaela shared her concerns with Robert.

"Honey... Denis' behaviour is... it's very peculiar. It's starting to worry me. It's truly unsettling," Michaela confided with a heavy sigh punctuating her words. "It's not typical for sixteen-year-olds to behave in such a manner," she added.

"Don't fret, Michaela, my love. Denis will improve with Hilot," Robert offered reassurance.

"It's not helping at all! Denis requires professional help, not Hilot!" Michaela rebutted. "It's only exacerbating things... making him... more..." Michaela's voice trailed off as a deep sigh conveyed the weight of her unspoken thoughts.