30 Days to Unmake a Monster

The Debt Collector from the Future

The blue glow of the computer monitor was the only sign of life in Raka’s suffocating studio apartment. On the screen, the cursor blinked lazily over a catering company logo he had already revised seven times. Raka sighed as the scent of cold cup noodles hit him—a stale aroma mingling with damp socks and pure desperation.

Twenty-seven years old with hair that looked more like a bird’s nest than a stylish undercut, Raka leaned back into an office chair that groaned in protest. His life was the textbook definition of stagnant. Ever since his breakup a year ago, his world had shrunk to four concrete walls, piles of empty soda cans, and utility bills that always arrived faster than inspiration.

Love is total bullshit, he muttered, rubbing his face, which was rough with two days of stubble. Marriage? That’s just a legal contract to hurt each other with state approval.

Just as he was about to shut his laptop and surrender to the lonely night, a heavy knock echoed from the door. Raka glanced at the old wall clock, its ticking sounding like a death sentence. 11:45 PM. No delivery driver was that crazy, and he didn’t have any friends who cared enough to visit this late.

The knock came again, more demanding this time.

Yeah, yeah! One second! Raka stood up, tripped over his laptop charger, and stumbled toward the door.

When he pulled it open, the chill of the night and a scent he didn’t recognize—black roses and rain—rushed inside. Standing before him was a woman. Her hair was jet black, flowing long with a few glistening raindrops clinging to the ends. She wore a cream-colored trench coat that looked incredibly expensive, a sharp contrast to the grimy, dim hallway of Raka’s building.

The woman was beautiful. She was so stunning that Raka actually forgot how to breathe for a moment. But there was something off about her gaze. Her sharp eyes didn’t project admiration or shyness; instead, they held a sort of suppressed rage mixed with an overwhelming exhaustion.

Raka Satya? her voice was low, trembling but authoritative.

Raka blinked, trying to pull himself together. Uh, yeah. Who are you? Do you have the wrong address? Or are you selling insurance? I don’t have any money, lady. Look at my feet—my flip-flops don't even match.

Without an invitation, the woman stepped inside, brushing past his shoulder. She scanned the room with a look of undisguised disgust. Her small, slender hand picked up an empty chip bag from the coffee table.

Your taste is still as terrible as ever, she said cuttingly. She turned around, staring Raka straight in the eye. You should already know why I’m here.

Raka stood there gaping, still holding the doorknob. Hold on, lady. This is illegal. Breaking and entering is a police matter. Who the hell are you?

The woman unbelted her trench coat, shedding it to reveal a silk dress that hugged her body perfectly. She sat on Raka’s sofa—the only seat not buried under a mountain of laundry—and crossed her long legs.

My name is Luna, she said. And I’ve come to collect a debt.

Raka let out a hollow laugh, even though his heart was starting to race from the sheer absurdity of the situation. A debt? Look, I’m broke, but I’ve never taken out a predatory loan, especially not from a girl as pretty as you. At most, I’m just a month behind on rent to my landlord.

Luna stood up slowly, closing the distance until they were only an inch apart. Raka could smell the roses again—a scent that felt familiar, though he couldn't place why. Luna reached out, touching Raka’s rough jawline with fingertips that were as cold as ice.

It’s not a financial debt, Raka, Luna whispered, her voice now sounding like a velvet-wrapped blade. It’s a debt of happiness. Ten years from now, you are my husband. And you are the biggest bastard to ever walk the earth.

The world seemed to stop spinning for Raka. He took a step back, bumping into the door he had just closed. What? My wife? Ten years? You’re... you’re sick, aren’t you? Do you need me to call an ambulance or a psych ward?

Luna didn't react to his mockery. She reached into her trench coat pocket and pulled out a small, silver, futuristic-looking box. She pressed a button, and a holographic projection shimmered into existence in the middle of the messy room.

Raka’s eyes widened. Inside the hologram, he saw himself—but a different version. The future Raka looked incredibly handsome, wearing a suit that cost more than a luxury car, his hair perfectly styled. However, his gaze was freezing. In the recording, the future Raka was snapping at a woman at a high-end gala. That woman was Luna.

Don’t expect me home tonight, Luna, the future Raka’s voice in the hologram sounded low and cruel. You’re nothing more than an ornament in this house. Stop begging for attention.

The hologram flickered out. Luna looked at the real Raka—the current Raka who was standing there in shock with a hole in the armpit of his undershirt.

That’s you, Raka. Successful, wealthy, but with a heart as hard as stone, Luna said, tears welling in the corners of her eyes though she refused to let them fall. I spent ten years loving you, and you repaid me with nothing but emptiness. So, I came back here. To a time when you were still... pathetic. A time when you could still be fixed.

Raka rubbed his eyes repeatedly. This is a camera trick, right? Are you a magician? Or is this some YouTube prank show?

Luna stepped forward again, this time grabbing Raka’s collar firmly. Listen to me carefully, Raka Satya. This mess of a life you have is going to turn into cold, hard success. But I am not going to let that happen again. I am here to give you Marriage Training. If I can’t make you a good husband in the future, then I will destroy your life right now so that the future never exists.

Raka swallowed hard. He felt like he was trapped in a very strange B-list sci-fi movie. Yet, there was something in Luna’s eyes—a pain so raw, a wound that no actress could ever fake—that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Marriage... what? Raka stammered.

Luna released her grip and offered a thin smile, one that looked more menacing than friendly. Toxic Marriage Training. I’m going to teach you every mistake, every fight, and every ounce of pain we are destined to go through. We’re going to simulate our marriage starting now. As of this second, I live here.

Wait! No way! Raka cried out in a panic. This is a tiny studio! There’s only one bed! And I don’t even know you!

Luna walked toward Raka’s bed, sweeping a pile of comics and dirty clothes onto the floor with one graceful motion before laying herself down.

Consider this the first lesson, Luna said, closing her eyes. Training on how to deal with an uncompromising wife. Oh, and one more thing, Raka...

Luna opened one eye, staring at Raka with an intensity that pinned him to the spot.

Don’t you dare fall in love with me in the present. Because the more you love me, the faster that tragic fate will find us. This debt of happiness must be paid with discipline, not with feelings.

Raka stood frozen in the middle of his room, which now felt like a foreign land. The rain outside intensified, drumming against the windowpane in an erratic rhythm. He stared at the stranger claiming to be his wife, then glanced back at his monitor, which still displayed that unfinished catering logo.

He had two choices: kick this crazy woman out and call the police, or play along with this insane game to find out if he really was destined to become a monster.

But as he watched Luna sleep, her brow furrowed as if she were haunted by pain even in her dreams, Raka felt a strange ache in his chest. It was a spark of connection that had no business being there for a total stranger.

A toxic marriage, huh? Raka murmured to himself. I guess my life is never going to be normal again.

Unbeknownst to him, a tiny digital clock embedded beneath the skin of Luna’s wrist began to pulse red. The numbers were plummeting.

The future was counting down.