Excitement and anxious energy pulse through me as we walk. This is actually happening. If everything goes right, we'll finally have answers.

Samiyah faked permission slips and convinced our parents we were on a school camping trip. It felt strange watching her lie—she's always been the "good daughter." But hey, if it fooled our strict Egyptian parents, I'm not complaining.

They were at work when we left. Saying goodbye that morning felt different. To them, we were off on a short trip. To me, it felt like a final moment—one where anything could go wrong, where we might not come back at all. I shove the thought away.

The trip starts in a car. Samiyah drives us to a grocery store parking lot near our house, kills the engine, and steps out like this is all perfectly normal. We slip out and walk the rest of the way home. No one pays us any attention—it's just another school day for everyone else.

But when we reach the house, Samiyah doesn't go inside. Instead, she leads me around the back, past the fence, toward the woods that stretch behind our neighborhood. She pulls out a compass. I follow, weaving through twisting trees, stepping over fallen logs, leaves crackling underfoot.

I want to ask. Where are we going? What's the plan? What's waiting for us?

But I keep my mouth shut. Samiyah finally let me come, and I'm not about to give her a reason to change her mind. It's not too late for that. Instead, I continue my nervous habit of rubbing my skin. Both my cheeks are now raw, so I've moved on to my hands.

After about ten minutes, Samiyah stops. I peek over her shoulder. The compass needle whirls in all directions, like it's having a seizure. My stomach knots. Is it supposed to do that?

I scan Samiyah's face for a clue. Her brows knit—not in frustration, but focus. She presses forward like she knows exactly where she's going. I choose to trust her and follow.

I follow her gaze to the massive tree ahead of us. Its trunk is impossibly thick, roots sprawling in every direction, gnarled and intertwined like veins beneath skin. The bark is rough, cracked, and weathered, as if the tree has been standing here longer than anything else in this forest.

Samiyah steps forward, carefully navigating over the roots. The compass in her hand jerks violently, the needle pointing straight at the tree.

She glances at me over her shoulder. "We're here."

I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this. I follow her, still in awe. When we reach the base, I throw my arms around the trunk. They don't even come close to fitting all the way around. The rough bark lightly scratches my cheek. I suck in my breath. My skin is still raw from me rubbing it all the time.

"Amani," Samiyah calls. I pull away.

Samiyah glances at me, her brows knitting together when she sees my face. I know what she's looking at—the raw skin on my cheeks, rubbed red from anxious fingers. She clicks her tongue.

"Sit down," she says, already dropping her bag onto the roots.

I hesitate, but do as I'm told. The roots are uneven, pressing into my legs as I try to get comfortable. Samiyah kneels in front of me, rummaging through her bag until she pulls out a small container of Vaseline. She sets it down, then reaches toward my face.

Both ends of my hijab are flipped over my shoulders. She tugs them forward again, then unfastens the pin beneath my chin. I let her, too surprised to protest. She pulls the fabric into a looser turban-like style, making sure my head is covered but my face is exposed. It's smart. It's smart. And it's familiar. It takes me back to when we were younger, when she'd help me wrap my hijab when I first put it on, or for special occasions like picture days and Eid. For a second, I feel like a kid again.

I swallow hard, pretending it doesn't mean something.

She opens the Vaseline and scoops out a small amount, carefully spreading it over the raw skin on my cheeks. I wince as the cold ointment stings, but she doesn't stop. Her touch is gentle, but firm.

"How'd you know to bring this?" I ask.

Samiyah screws the lid back on. "Because if I didn't, you'd rub your skin off all the way to your skull."

Her tone is dry, but there's a flicker of amusement in her eyes. She glances at my hands and, before I can say anything, tosses me something soft.I catch it on reflex. A small crocheted bean, stuffed and round, with small black eyes on the front.

"It's a stress bean," she says. "Jaiden, from school, he makes them. You fidget with it, or just carry it around like a little friend. Might help you stop rubbing your skin."

I stare at it. Squeeze the bean between my fingers. It's firm, but squishy, oddly satisfying to hold.

Did she plan this for me? Even after fighting to leave me behind, she still made sure I'd be okay. She didn't have to do that. But she did. And I don't know what to do with that.

Samiyah stands, brushing dirt off her skirt. "Come on," she says, already turning toward the tree. "We're not done yet."

I take one last look at the stress bean before slipping it into my pocket and getting to my feet. Samiyah walks around the base of the tree, stopping and kneeling again in front of a tangle of roots. I follow her and watch as she puts her hands on them and starts to push and pull, as if she's trying to pull them apart. I've trusted the process up until now, but this? This feels like a stretch.

"Samiyah, what-"

"Can you give me a hand here?"

"I- what?"

"Do you think you could help me move these? Please, Amani?"

Reluctantly, I kneel beside her, fingers curling around a thick root. It's rough and unyielding at first, but together, we pull. The roots shift. Dirt crumbles. A small gap widens into something bigger—an opening just large enough for a person to squeeze through.

I hesitate. The hole yawns before me, nothing but darkness stretching beyond its edges. I reach out, expecting to feel packed earth or jagged roots, but there's only empty, open air. A faint breeze ghosts over my fingertips, cool and unfamiliar.

"We're going in."

I knew it. I fucking knew it.

Samiyah sticks her feet in it, carefully adjusting the skirt of her abaya as she shimmies downward. I suddenly realize that instead of her normal pink, she's wearing a darker rouge color, one that's less likely to show noticeable dirt stains. She came prepared.

The roots swallow her inch by inch—shoulders, arms, head. My throat tightens. It looks like she's disappearing.

"You can follow me down when I call for you. Not before. Got it?"

I nod, and after one last look, she lets go of the roots and allows herself to be engulfed by the darkness. I suck in my breath and squeeze the stress bean in my pocket. My throat tightens as the last of her vanishes. I want to call her back, tell her this is a terrible idea. But before I can, her voice echoes up.

"Amani!" Samiyah calls. "You can come down now."

Reluctantly, I ease into the hole. Feet, legs, waist—gone. My fingers dig into the roots, dirt caking under my nails. My legs dangle into nothing.

"Let go. I've got you." Her hands tap my shins.

I exhale, squeeze my eyes shut—then drop.

She catches me, her arms wrapping around my waist as her legs stumble, trying to regain balance. Her grip loosens, and I'm carefully lowered until my feet are touching what feels like solid ground. I cling to her like a lifeline, my eyes still shut tight. She pats my head, reassuring, before gently pulling away.

"You can open your eyes," She tells me. After a moment of hesitation, still holding her hand, I do.

Despite what people think, the human brain isn't bright pink. It's more of a purplish-white. Kind of yellow. And it's not squishy—at least, not to me. It barely feels like anything.

The ground isn't like anything I've ever felt before—solid, but not quite real. My feet don't sink into it, but they don't feel stable, either. There's no dirt, no rock, no roots. Just... something. A low, pulsing hum thrums under my skin.

I've known we're inside someone's brain. But knowing isn't the same as feeling. Not even when we almost dissolved did it seem completely real. But now? Now it's sinking in.

I look around one more time. It looks like a sort of tunnel, but what I'd call the walls aren't clearly defined. I look up at the 'ceiling' to find the hole we came through, a couple feet above us.

I meet Samiyah's gaze. She lifts an eyebrow, silently asking, Well?

I exhale. "Son of a bitch, we're inside someone's brain."

this chapter killed me for some reason

oh yeah hai pookies how we doing

I think I did good with this one 

don't got much to say for some reason 

uuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh I like to think we're moving forward with the plot

oh yeah this chap is kinda long, 5 1/2 pages on mah word doc and 1530 words wowie zowie 

idk im tired broskis 

is this the most skibiddi sigma story u ever read 

am I the ultimate rizzler 

probably not thats ok 

I think its really cool cuz if u look back at earlier chapters and compare it to this one you can really see how much I've improved over the course of this project, and im not even done yet-

really proud of this actually 

girlypops are getting their hands dirty 

my shaylas fr tho they are my Roman Empire 

this is my Magnus opus rn 

I have to shower ya boi stinky 

im going into full hermit mode rn 

considered ending this on a cliffhanger, not sure if what I did counts as one but if so then hahahhahahhahahhahahahahah sucks to suck you gotta wait to see what happens >:D

hope u enjoyed 

if you wanna make me extra happy u can comment, doesn't have to be a lot or anything special just tell me what you thought and if u don't wanna do that then just a simple 'hi I read this' :3

I appreciate it a lot and thanks to every single one of you who have been reading this since the beginning and everyone who may have joined later on (I only got like 2 confirmed readers so im not even saying much lol) you give me motivation to keep working on this :3

I will now retreat back into my cave goodbye have a good day or night lovelies 

pro tip: don't read if past ur bedtime if ur exhausted u won't be able to enjoy it in full so like ya

-JJZ