Thelma indeed had a bandage wrapped around her head. But how did she get hurt? She was perfectly fine before going to bed.
Moreover, Thelma noticed something off about the reflection in the mirror. The face was hers, but it seemed much thinner. Her skin, though fair, lacked vitality—it was pale, almost sickly, as if she was malnourished.
Thelma had no idea what was going on. Everything before her felt like a dream, unreal. As she stared at her familiar yet somewhat foreign face in the mirror, questioning whether all this was a dream, she accidentally caught sight of the wall clock behind her in the mirror.
The hands pointed to 9:20.
Thelma suddenly snapped back to reality. She was supposed to be competing today!
She was still in her pajamas. She immediately took them off and rummaged for clothes to change into, but the clothes in the wardrobe seemed unfamiliar, with a much more mature style. Particularly striking was a row of lace-trimmed nightgowns—something she wouldn’t have considered at her age.
But now wasn’t the time to worry about that. She grabbed a random set of clothes and quickly put them on. Just as she finished, there was a knock on the door, followed by her sister Samantha’s voice: “Thelma, are you awake?”
“I’m awake…”
As soon as she spoke, Thelma was startled by her own voice. What was going on? Why did her voice sound so rough and hoarse?
Thelma immediately cleared her throat and tried to speak again. “I…”
But the hoarse, unpleasant voice remained.
Thelma was completely shocked. How could this be happening?! Her voice—her voice was like this?! She had a competition today!
At that moment, Samantha had already opened the door and walked in. Seeing her, Thelma urgently asked, “Sister, what’s going on? Why is my voice like this? I have a competition to attend, but with my voice like this, what do I do? And why am I at home? Wasn’t I in my dorm? And my head—how did I get hurt? What’s going on?”
Samantha’s features bore some resemblance to Thelma’s; both were undeniably beautiful. However, Thelma’s features were sharper and more striking, exuding an air of confidence and boldness, while Samantha’s beauty was more subdued and graceful.
Samantha was just as baffled by Thelma’s barrage of questions. “What are you talking about? What competition?” She hadn’t had anything to drink this early in the day, so she couldn’t be drunk. Besides, Thelma’s anxious, almost tearful expression didn’t seem like she was joking.
Thelma didn’t have time to dwell on it because it was already late, and any further delay would ruin everything. She tried speaking a few more times, but her voice remained rough and hoarse. Desperate, she stomped and cried out, “What do I do? What do I do? How can I compete like this?”
Samantha stepped forward, gently holding Thelma’s shoulders. In a soft voice, she asked, “Don’t panic. Tell me, what competition are you talking about?”
“The Pineapple TV talent competition! The one that happens every three years! This is the Mapleton City audition round. If I miss it, I’ll have to wait three more years. By then, I’ll already be twenty-three. I want to make a name for myself early. I’ve prepared so much for this competition—I don’t want to wait another three years! But my voice—what happened to my voice?!”
How could she sing with such a terrible voice? Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed, overwhelmed by despair. Samantha fixed her gaze on Thelma’s face. This was her little sister; she knew her well. Thelma’s expressions were genuine—she wasn’t faking it.
After a moment of thought, Samantha asked, “Tell me, what’s the date today?”
“May 23rd. The preliminary rounds start today—I’m sure of it,” Thelma replied confidently.
She had already passed the auditions and the second round. The preliminary round was crucial in determining whether she would stand out. She couldn’t miss it.
“What year?” Samantha pressed.
“2013,” Thelma said with certainty.
Her tone was firm, her gaze clear. She didn’t look delusional. Yet her certainty only made Samantha more shocked. She stared at Thelma in stunned silence before taking a deep breath and saying, word by word, “Thelma, it’s 2018 now.”
Thelma froze, then grew even more anxious. “Sister, why are you joking with me at a time like this?”
Samantha said nothing. Instead, she took Thelma by the hand and led her outside. They walked through the bustling lobby of a restaurant and stood at its entrance. Above the door, in bold, elegant calligraphy, were the words Peace Hotel. This was the restaurant their grandfather had established from the ground up.
