New World/ Old School

The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint hum of a city waking up. I stood on the sidewalk, clutching my bag tightly, my breath visible in the cool air. The watch on my wrist beeped again, its holographic display flashing:

"Estimated time to arrival: 10 minutes. Suggested action: Hail a taxi."

A taxi? I normally took the bus, but today wasn't a normal day. I was late, and I couldn't afford to waste another second. I raised my hand, and almost instantly, a sleek, silver vehicle glided to a stop in front of me. It was unlike any taxi I'd ever seen—smooth, futuristic, and completely silent. The door slid open automatically, and a soft, robotic voice greeted me.

"Welcome. Please state your destination."

"Uh, Guangzhou Nanfang International School," I stammered, sliding into the back seat. The interior was pristine, with soft leather seats and a faint lavender scent. The door closed behind me, and the taxi began to move, merging seamlessly into the flow of traffic.

As the taxi sped through the city, I pressed my face against the window, my eyes wide with wonder. The cityscape was breathtaking—a blend of towering skyscrapers and lush greenery, with holographic billboards floating in the air and drones zipping between buildings. The streets were clean, lined with trees and futuristic streetlights that glowed softly even in the daylight. Pedestrians walked briskly, their clothes sleek and modern, some even wearing augmented reality glasses that projected screens in front of their eyes.

I couldn't help but feel a pang of awe. This wasn't the city I'd grown up in, but it felt familiar in a way that was hard to explain. It was as if my memories of my old life were overlapping with this new one, creating a strange sense of déjà vu. The technology was so advanced, so seamless, that it was almost overwhelming. And yet, despite the futuristic veneer, there was something comforting about it—a sense of life and energy that reminded me of the city I'd known.

My eyes drifted to the watch on my wrist. It was a marvel in itself, a device capable of scanning my body, diagnosing my health, and even accessing my memories. How had I ended up in a world where something like this existed? And why did it feel so new to me, even though I had the memories of this life?

The taxi turned a corner, and my breath caught in my throat. Ahead of us was a massive suspension bridge, its cables glowing with a soft, blue light. Beneath it, the Pearl river sparkled in the morning sun, dotted with boats and floating platforms that seemed to serve as cafes and shops. The bridge itself was lined with solar panels and wind turbines, a testament to the city's commitment to sustainability.

"This is incredible," I murmured, more to myself than anyone else.

The taxi's robotic voice responded, "Would you like a brief overview of the city's history and landmarks?"

"Uh, no thanks," I said quickly. I wasn't in the mood for a guided tour. I just wanted to get to school.

As we crossed the bridge, I noticed something strange. The city seemed to pulse with life, but there was an undercurrent of something else—something I couldn't quite put my finger on. It was as if the city itself was alive, watching, waiting. I shook my head, trying to dispel the thought. I was probably just overthinking things. After all, I'd been through a lot in the past week.

The taxi exited the bridge and entered a quieter part of the city. The skyscrapers gave way to smaller buildings, and the streets became narrower and more residential. We passed parks filled with children playing, their laughter echoing through the air. For a moment, I felt a pang of nostalgia. This was the kind of neighborhood I'd grown up in—simple, peaceful, and full of life.

Finally, the taxi slowed to a stop in front of an imposing structure. Guangzhou Nanfang International School. My heart skipped a beat as I stepped out of the taxi, my bag slung over my shoulder. The school was massive, a sprawling campus with multiple buildings connected by covered walkways. The main building was a modern architectural marvel, with glass walls and solar panels integrated into its design. The courtyard was filled with students of all ages, from young children in primary uniforms to teenagers chatting in groups. A large holographic sign above the entrance displayed the school's name and motto: "Innovation, Integrity, Inspiration."

I took a deep breath and walked through the gates, my shoes crunching on the gravel path. The school grounds were bustling with activity, but I felt oddly out of place. I glanced at my watch:

"Estimated time to class: 2 minutes. Suggested action: Proceed to Room 1-3."

Room 1-3. That was my classroom. As a ninth-grader, I was in the first year of high school, and my class was on the first floor of the main building. I quickened my pace, my heart pounding in my chest. As I walked, I couldn't help but notice the changes. The hallways were wider and brighter, with digital bulletin boards displaying announcements and schedules. The lockers were sleek and modern, with touchscreens embedded in the doors. Even the air smelled different—cleaner, fresher, as if it had been filtered.

I reached the first floor and turned down the hallway, my eyes scanning the room numbers. Finally, I found it—Room 1-3. The door was slightly ajar, and I could hear the murmur of voices inside. I hesitated for a moment, my hand hovering over the doorknob. This was it. The moment I'd been dreading—and yet, in a strange way, looking forward to.

I took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.