The door opened slowly.
A cold draft came towards Jonas.
He took a step forward –
and stopped abruptly.
The room behind the door was not a room.
It was a classroom.
His classroom.
Jonas’ stomach tightened immediately.
The desks were arranged exactly as he knew them. The blackboard at the front, the windows on the left side, even the small scratches on his desk were there.
Everything seemed… exactly the same.
Only a bit quieter.
Unnaturally quiet.
“This isn’t real…,” whispered Jonas.
But his voice sounded muffled again, as if the room swallowed it.
Slowly he stepped inside.
The door closed behind him.
Click.
Jonas flinched and turned around.
Closed.
Of course.
“Okay… stay calm…”
He looked around the room again.
All seats were occupied.
His classmates were sitting there.
Silent.
Motionless.
Like frozen.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
Jonas walked slowly down the aisle between the desks.
He knew every face.
Ben. Lara. Tim.
All there.
But no one reacted.
As if they were just… pictures.
Then he heard a sound.
A soft clearing of the throat.
Jonas turned to the blackboard.
Someone was standing there.
His teacher.
Mr. Becker.
He looked just like always. Shirt, glasses, slightly annoyed expression.
Only now he was moving.
Slowly.
And looking directly at Jonas.
“Nice that you’re coming after all,” he said calmly.
Jonas’ heart started beating faster.
“I… I’m not—”
“Too late,” interrupted Mr. Becker.
The voice suddenly sounded sharper.
Jonas stopped.
“Sit down.”
Jonas hesitated.
His gaze wandered to his seat.
At the very back.
Of course.
He walked there slowly.
Every step felt heavy.
As if the room was forcing him to keep going.
When he sat down, he suddenly heard voices.
Quiet.
Whispering.
He looked around.
The others were moving now.
Very slightly.
And they whispered.
“Too late…”
“As always…”
“Typical…”
Jonas pressed his lips together.
“Stop it…,” he murmured.
But the voices did not lessen.
Mr. Becker tapped a pen on the desk.
Immediately it became quiet.
Then he looked directly at Jonas.
“Do you know why you are here?”
Jonas shook his head.
“No.”
Mr. Becker stepped closer slowly.
“Because you avoided something.”
Jonas’ gaze became restless.
“What?”
The teacher stopped right in front of his desk.
“The test.”
Jonas froze.
His stomach tightened.
“That… that was just—”
“Just what?”
The voice was now harsh.
Jonas looked down at the desk.
He remembered.
The math test two weeks ago.
He hadn’t studied.
And that day he had simply… skipped.
On purpose.
“I wanted to make it up later…,” Jonas said quietly.
“Did you really want to?” asked Mr. Becker calmly.
Jonas said nothing.
The silence in the room grew heavy.
Then the teacher placed a sheet in front of him.
The test.
Exactly the same.
“You have two options now,” said Mr. Becker.
Jonas looked up slowly.
“Which?”
The teacher looked at him firmly.
“You can leave.”
Jonas’ heart jumped.
“Just… leave?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Becker.
“You get up, leave the room, and it’s over.”
Jonas swallowed.
That sounded familiar.
Too familiar.
“And the other option?”
The teacher pushed the test a little closer to him.
“You stay.”
Jonas looked at the sheet.
Numbers.
Problems.
Everything he couldn’t do.
His hands became restless again.
“And if I stay?”
Mr. Becker answered calmly:
“Then you face what you avoided.”
Jonas looked around.
The other students were looking at him now.
No longer empty.
But… expectant.
“And if I leave?”
A short pause.
Then Mr. Becker said:
“Then everything stays as it is.”
Jonas’ gaze became firmer.
“So… worse?”
The teacher did not answer.
And that was the answer again.
Jonas looked at the test.
Then at the door.
Then back at the sheet.
His heart beat faster.
And for the first time since he was on the train, he felt not only fear.
But also… anger.
At himself.
Slowly he placed his hand on the pen.
And at that very moment, the clock above the blackboard began to tick.
Loudly.
Clearly.
14:37
And it kept running.