I wondered if elevators as large as some of ours were the norm in the past. The circular platform stretching at ten meters in diameters with cushioned seats built into the walls, held half a dozen families and was lit by a ring of fluorescent lights on the ceiling. It was commodious enough that the groups could stand in their own cliques with space left between. However, the normal looking crowd made Joan's constant inquiry about my experience in the parking lot all the more strange a topic that drew stares from groups nearby.

“I told you,” I said for the seventh time. “Nothing happened.”

Joan glared at me suspiciously, “You're so lying. You know you can't lie to me.”

“What could possibly have happened!” I raised my arms in exaggeration of the deal she's making. “You were beside me the whole time. If anything happened, don't you think you would have known.”

She considered my logic, which was pretty much flawless, helping in the lie. “If you lie to me...”

I held her shoulders reassuringly. “I swear on my life,” I said, hoping she wouldn't realize I considered myself a dead man.

Her affirmative nod told me she didn't. “Alright. If you say so.”

We reached the rooftop garden of the school building and the elevator's large double metal door retracted and opened. We let the other families flood out first, leaving us a clear path onto the artificial yard.

Exiting onto the rooftop, I found myself under the light-violet, Mist filled sky. Surrounded by a glass dome, the level was high enough above ground that I could see the Mist cutting off at the horizon, the purple coloured sky and the lighter brown lower atmosphere separated cleanly at the edge of the world.

The garden itself was of a simple layout. The bushes of flowers lined the perimeter, with a few sparse shrubs scattered around the rest of the area, giving life to the place with their flowers of the colours of the rainbow. In the centre of it all was a round stage encircled by a dozen neat rows of chairs. Empty paths crossed each rows, dividing the seating cleanly into four segments. Around us, families stood excitedly in groups, almost matching the patches of bushes in numbers and colours. I counted nearly a thousand people in the large garden.

Joan explained, “Every building has one of these gardens at their highest points now.” Sure enough, as I looked across the cityscape at the other skyscrapers surrounding us, multiple style of greenhouses capped their tips like hats. “Helps increase the oxygen cycling the city.”

“All this in fifteen years,” I said in wonder. “You amaze even now,” I placed my arm around her and kissed her forehead, staring at my surrounding in wonder.

“She is amazing,” a voice said from behind. I turned to see G step out of the elevator, his classic dressing of a suit perfectly fitting the occasion. He looked around the air of New Roagnark, taking in the scene of skyscrapers with their bright domes shining under the violet sky. He turned back to me and reached out his hand. “Just like you.”

I took his hand in mine, “Good to see you again, my friend.”

“So um...no hard feelings, right?” he gestured with his eyes towards Joan. It wasn't a question of condescension either, but a legitimate, friendly, 'Are we good?', which made it all the more painful for me to reply.

“So long as you keep her safe and out of trouble.” I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We're good.” I gave as sincere a smile as I could muster, hiding the jealousy within.

From the stage, the MC, a female student dressed in a gold tasselled cap and blue gown, announced in an annoyingly high pitched, her voice screeching through the speakers. “The ceremony is about to commence. Will all families please take a seat around the stage. Thank you.”

The crowd began congregating towards the stage and we agreed that we should head to our seats less we be blocked out like a latecomer in a movie theatre. Maybe not in those exact words, I'll admit, but that's the idea.

We managed to find out seats at the edge of the seventh row though, which made the whole theatre metaphor moot. I took the innermost seat beside Joan, and G sat next to the aisle. I relit the conversation with the agent.

“What have you been up to?” I asked. I tried to swipe a strand of hair away from my sights, only to realize that I had accidentally sat on my hands. I quickly shifted over to let my unfeeling limb free.

“Well,” G began, shifting over as a family of three squeezed through the narrow walkway. “I've been asked to assist Leah in studying the Mist portal.”

“The thing that's pouring poisoning gas into the sky?” I asked to clarify, which he nodded. “Why do you call it a portal?”

Joan answered, “It isn't just a dense concentration of Mist. It's also creating the substance. Though the amount it makes a year is less than a cannister. But the production rate is increasing”

G continued, “And it's in an empty region of the atmosphere. As far as we know, there's nothing there. In fact there doesn't seem to be anything in it either.” G looked to the direction of the portal in the sky, having studied it for such a long time that he knew exactly where it was even without any machines or sensors pointing to it. “Empty. Just slowly puffing out Mist from nothing.”

“The portal is Leah's theory,” Joan added. “We haven't been able to replicate, produce, or control Mist in any lab conditions, and there's no known natural source of it.”

“So that thing in the sky is the source,” I said, drawing the conclusion.

G took off his horn-rimmed glasses and a wipe to clean it, while elaborating, “But it's empty space. All our sensors and tests says so. Nothing should be up there producing the gas, so our theory is that the space itself is creating it.”

“Like a portal...” I finished.

The chattering of the crowd died down and I looked forward to find the source. The girl from before had been replaced by a male in the similar fashioned cap and gown. However, he had a small, but noticeable golden pin on his chest that glinted in the light.

There was no podium or microphone visible, so I could only assume that when they spoke, it was due to some new, unseen technology that I had yet to have the opportunity to witness. The fact that Joan and G displayed zero surprise at the phenomenon meant that I was probably the only person in the crowd who had any interest in something that mundane to them. And suddenly, I felt old. Really, really, old.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the male greeted, “Families and friends of our school. I am the student president, Gordon Walker, and I welcome you to the graduation ceremony of...”

His voice trailed from me. As if it was speeding quickly into the distance. In the silence that ensued, I could hear my heart pounding, and a ringing in my ears as if their drums were about to burst. I could see the president's lips moving as he spoke, but the sound reached me as mumbled gibberish.

I raised my right hand over my heart, expecting to feel my heartbeat slowing, but instead, felt nothing at all. Reminding myself once again of my inability to physically feel anything, I took a deep breath to calm myself and scanned my surroundings, thinking that the time manipulating man who called himself Pausa had returned. But I found nothing.

Then, for a split second, I felt my heart beat against my chest and to the palm of my hands. For a split second, I felt breeze on my skin and an ache in my knee. As suddenly as it lowered, the volume of the world returned to my ears like air bursting into vacuum. Something had happened to me, physically.

“And without further adieu,” the graduate on the stage announced, completely ignoring – or more precisely, not noticing – about the shocked look on my face. “I present to you, our graduates!”

I snapped back to the situation as everyone around got to their feet. I did the same, and with a gentle nudge from a smiling Joan, turned to face the entrance to the oversized elevator we came out of. From within, in neat rows of fives, the graduates started walking out to the claps, cheers and shouts of joy from their families.

My daughter was graduating. My physical problems can wait.

I started clapping.