The sky was pitch black when Terra crept back to the front gate. The streetlights flickered like haunted candles, crickets screamed in the grass, and a stray cat hissed at a trash bag like it was demanding payment.

Terra tiptoed step by step, praying her dad had already fallen asleep on the sofa like always—remote in hand, snoring like a chainsaw.

“Terra.”

The voice sliced through the dark like a guillotine.

Terra froze.

There, at the doorway, stood Mr. Sentalos—the eternal enemy of daughters who came home late—arms crossed, glasses gleaming with judgment. The aura around him screamed death sentence.
“I’ve been sitting here since this afternoon, waiting for you to be late.”

“You’re late again,” he said, his tone grave. “How many times is this now?”

Terra swallowed hard. “I… had group work. Plus… climate change is messing up everyone’s schedules?”

Her father narrowed his eyes. “Don’t lie. It’s time for the Cursed to teach you a lesson.”

Before Terra could protest, he raised his hand like some dark sorcerer. His voice boomed with the authority of every strict father who ever forbade teenage romance:

“I curse you—no boyfriends, no girlfriends, no romance, no love at all—until you earn a PhD. Do you hear me? A PhD!”

A freezing shiver of Cursed energy shot down Terra’s spine, like the universe itself had just signed a contract chaining her to academia.

“WHAT?!” Terra shrieked. “This isn’t discipline, this is academic terrorism! Dad, I still cry over trigonometry homework!”

But Mr. Sentalos only turned away calmly. “Dinner’s in the fridge. Don’t stay up late.”

The door clicked shut.

Terra collapsed to the floor, clutching her head.
“No dating until I’m Dr. Terra Sentalos?! God, I can’t even pass a math quiz without hyperventilating!”

The next morning—thankfully Sunday, no school. Unfortunately, Terra’s living room had turned into the “Victims of the Cursed Support Group.”

Layla was sprawled across the sofa, munching chips like royalty. Tobas sat in a chair, still stuck in his tragic “maiden form,” sighing like a rejected heroine from a soap opera.

“We’ve got a big problem,” Terra said, pacing back and forth. “My dad cursed me last night.”

Layla raised an eyebrow. “What kind of curse? Grounded?”

“No. Worse. I can’t fall in love until I get a PhD.”

The chip dropped right out of Layla’s mouth. Then she burst into wild laughter.
“HAHAHAHA! Oh my god! Guess you’ll be single until the year 2090! Congratulations, Dr. Lonely!”

Tobas clutched his chest, shuddering. “That’s the cruelest curse I’ve ever heard. A PhD is a journey longer than hell itself.”

“Shut up!” Terra snapped. “This is serious!”

Layla wiped her tears of laughter, then suddenly looked solemn. “I’m not kidding, Terra. Ever since you cursed me, my brain has no filter. I have to say everything I think. Even flirting turns into a live confession booth.”

Tobas nodded miserably. “And me… since your curse, I act like some tragic maiden. Yesterday I sneezed, and three doves landed on my shoulders. The neighbors took pictures. Humiliating!”

Terra faceplanted into a pillow. “So basically, every time I slip up and curse someone… we all suffer.”

Then Tobas sat up, eyes wide. “Wait. What if you cursed yourself? Maybe that cancels the old curses out!”

Layla squinted. “Or maybe it’ll turn me into a 24/7 broadcast system that blurts out literally everything.”

“Still worth trying,” Terra sighed.

Layla stood in the middle of the room, took a deep breath, and declared:
“I curse myself… to never say anything mean again!”

Three seconds passed. The room held its breath.

Then Layla exploded:
“Goddammit, Tobas, your hair looks like a K-pop reject who didn’t even make it past auditions!”

Terra buried her face in her hands. “Yep… just as I thought. Failure.”

Right then, a voice came from the hallway.

Mr. Sentalos.

He’d been eavesdropping the whole time.

“You kids misunderstand,” he said, stepping in with the authority of a prophet. “A curse cannot erase itself. Even if you curse yourself, it will never nullify the original.”

The three of them froze.

He adjusted his glasses, continuing calmly:
“However… when two curses collide, they may change. Amplify. Distort.”

Terra swallowed. “Distort how?”

Her father’s voice was slow, deliberate:
“For example, if one person is cursed to ‘never fail a test,’ while another curses them to ‘never pass a test,’ the result is… the exam paper will burst into flames before grading.”

Layla’s jaw dropped. “So curses can… combine?”

“Yes. Like chemicals. Or like terrible roommates.”

Tobas’s eyes sparkled with sudden hope. “Then maybe we can combine our curses into something good!”

Terra clutched her head. “Or we’ll end up with a world where no one can date unless they have a PhD! Dad, do you realize how dangerous your curse is?!”

Mr. Sentalos calmly sipped his tea. “Sounds like a logical society to me.”

“DAAAD!!!” Terra screamed.

Layla glanced at her, then suddenly blurted out:
“Doesn’t matter. Even if you’re dumb enough to take seventy damn years to get that PhD… I’ll still love you.”

The room went dead silent.

Tobas’s jaw dropped. “Uh… what just happened?”

Terra’s face flushed crimson. “Layla, you—you said WHAT?!”

Layla shrugged casually. “I think it, I say it. Thanks to your stupid curse. But… I don’t regret it.”

Terra buried her face in a pillow, wailing like a dying dinosaur. Tobas just stared at them both, wide-eyed, as if watching a slow-motion romance drama unfold.

Meanwhile, the Cursed shimmered faintly in the air, as though laughing—its little game was only just beginning.