Idris Point of View

I had no hope for her.

Demon girl; bright-eyed, offbeat, and vaguely chaotic, as if a gust of wind had wandered into a philosophy textbook and stayed to make tea.

She wasn't serious.

Not the way the Science team was.

Not the way truth should be.

She strolled up to the podium like she was about to tell a bedtime story. No notes. Just a strange little smirk, as if she already knew a secret and wasn't sure whether to keep it or let it slip.

"Good evening!" she chirped, like this was a picnic and not an intellectual warzone. "Let's begin with a banana." I blinked. So did the Science team. Indian guy actually raised an eyebrow.

Banana?

Is she now talking about fruit spirits?

"A banana," Demon girl repeated, now holding up... an actual banana from her bag.

Yes, an actual yellow long banana.

"We can measure it. We can cut it open, analyze the sugars, the fibers, its banana-ness. All very scientific." The audience chuckled. Other Asian guy folded his arms.

"But suppose," she continued, "You dreamt of a banana last night. Tasted it. Peeled it. Laughed when it turned into a fish. None of it real. Yet, you remember the banana. Feel something about it. Maybe confusion. Maybe delight. My question is—does your dream banana exist?"

She looked around as if genuinely waiting for someone to answer.

Silence.

She leaned in, whispering theatrically into the mic: "If it doesn't exist, why do you remember it?"

The moderator cleared his throat gently, clearly trying not to smile.

I scoffed quietly.

This is philosophy? Bananas and dreams? Can't you come up with something better?

And just like that, Demon girl waltzed back to her seat like she'd just solved world hunger.

Then the other asian guy took the mic - now that was a return to sanity. He didn't mock her. He didn't even address the banana. He just pivoted.

"Our job is not to chase imagination," he said crisply. "Our job is to understand reality. Test it. Repeat it. If it cannot be repeated, it cannot be known."

There was a round of approving nods. I found myself nodding too. That's what I came for. Not riddles.

He moved through his points like a surgeon—neuroscience, quantum physics, emerging studies on perception and consciousness.

Clean. Powerful.

"We can observe brain activity that corresponds with subjective experiences," he said. "Even dreams. This is not metaphysical. It's biological. It's measurable. That's the difference."

A soft murmur of agreement swept the audience.

Demon girl, lounging sideways in her seat, raised her hand like she was asking for a bathroom break.

The moderator hesitated, then nodded.

She practically bounced back up.

"Okay, so," she said, "let's say we can measure brain waves during dreams. What exactly are we measuring? The dream? The banana? Or just electricity dancing in meat?"

Other asian guy's jaw flexed. He didn't respond.

Demon girl grinned. "See, here's the fun part. Science tells us what is happening. But we—" she gestured to her team, who looked both amused and mildly terrified, "—are interested in why it's happening at all. Why does consciousness emerge from flesh? Why is there anything instead of nothing? Why do laws of physics exist at all?"

The Science team tried to keep their composure, but I saw the subtle glances, the small shifts in posture. They weren't ready for this angle. Not because it was better, because it was unreachable. It refused to stay inside the lines.

Her teammate, Jasmine, stepped in smoothly "We don't dispute evidence. But we question the lens. If the tool you're using to understand reality is reality, how do you know you're not trapped inside it?"

God. I hated how good that sounded.

Not because I agreed but because I didn't know how to un-agree with it.

Other asian guy spoke again, slower now. "The problem with metaphysics is that it poses questions that cannot be answered."

"And science," Demon girl shot back, "poses answers that pretend the questions were never there."

Oof.

The room stilled.

Even the moderator leaned slightly forward.

I stared at Demon girl, dumbfounded.

She was still smiling—like she knew exactly what she was doing. Like all of this was a warm-up for something stranger.

Indian guy stood again, visibly trying to reclaim control of the floor.

"Let's pivot," he said, tight and composed. "To an example. Ghosts."

Some people in the audience chuckled.

"If metaphysics wishes to wander into the unobservable," he said, "then let's walk there. Ghosts. Spirits. Possession. Claims made across cultures, across time. Yet not once - not once - have we found a measurable trace of such entities. No patterns. No reliable data. No instruments have confirmed their presence. Which means, scientifically—" he drew a crisp breath, "—they do not exist."

Applause broke out. Even I clapped. That's the kind of clarity I signed up for.

Demon girl didn't move.

She waited until the applause settled like dust. Then she stood, "Let's be honest," she said, "ghosts are hilarious."

A few giggles rippled through the audience.

"But," she continued, "What do you actually mean when you say something doesn't exist? That it doesn't leave fingerprints in your current system of measurement? What if you're trying to weigh a whisper with a scale?" She paused.

"And more importantly, if a person believes a ghost is real... and that belief changes their behaviour, emotions, even biology... does the ghost not, in some way, exist?"

Silence.

Her voice softened. "We've documented possessions, haven't we? People speaking in languages they never learned. Sudden shifts in behaviour, voice, posture. Science calls it dissociative identity disorder or extreme trauma. But how do we know those are causes and not effects of something we don't yet understand?"

A guy from science team stepped forward again, visibly irritated now. "Correlation is not causation. Anecdotes are not evidence."

"But anecdotes," Demon girl replied, "are where your data starts. Before there was science, there were stories. And stories have guided people to truths long before your instruments caught up."

The crowd was restless now - people leaning in, whispering, unsure of where they stood anymore.

Then Demon girl raised a hand, almost too casually. "I can prove it."

A hush fell across the room.

She smiled, but this time... there was something in it. A flicker of seriousness, sharp and sudden beneath all the mischief.

"I can prove," she said, "that a person can be possessed by a ghost."

Even her teammates turned toward her sharply. Maya blinked. One of the others whispered something she ignored.

Indian guy folded his arms again. "You're joking."

"Nope."

The moderator leaned in, suddenly unsure of his role. "Zephyra, this is a formal debate—"

"Just a demonstration," she interrupted gently. "Nothing scary. Just... weird."

She turned slowly, scanning the audience.

And then her eyes landed on me.

Oh no. No, no, no.

Her smile widened.

Oh gods.

"I'd like to call on someone very special to assist me," she announced, voice all sweet and honey-drizzled.

My heart sank. My hands went cold.

She pointed. "Grrrgal, would you mind coming up here?"

My soul briefly left my body.

Why the heck should she call me?

I don't want to be her lab rat. I don't agree to be so.

The entire room turned to look at me. My chair suddenly felt a hundred degrees hotter. I wanted to melt into it. I tried the old trick - look down, don't make eye contact, maybe they'll pick someone else.

"Come on, Grrrgal," Demon girl cooed. "You're my husband! You're legally required to help me weird people out."

The audience laughed. Other asian guy was blinking like he'd been personally betrayed by reality.

I didn't move.

I shook my head slightly. Please don't—

"Husband," she said dramatically into the mic, "should always be the first test subject in a wife's experiments. It's in the sacred scrolls of matrimony."

Laughter broke out across the room. Someone in the back actually clapped.

I slumped forward and stood up like I was rising for execution. Each step toward the stage felt like a mile.

When I reached her, she grinned like I'd just agreed to adopt her haunted house.

"Hi," She whispered. "Thanks for not running away."

"Still considering it," I muttered. God, I hate her like this the most.

She placed a hand on my shoulder and turned to face the audience like a magician presenting her assistant.

"Now," she said, "I'm going to ask Idris – my husband - to hold this pendant."

I narrowed my eyes at the pendant she was holding and one look at it, I felt chills all over my body. My intuition is saying that that is not a good thing to touch.

But my destiny is saying that if I don't hold it, I will lose my ability to be intuitive.

"It's just an old charm," Demon girl said cheerfully. "Found it in a box buried under a dead fig tree behind a monastery."

"Oh good," I said aloud, dry as sand. "That makes it better."

She placed it in my palm. It was warm. No, hot. I didn't like that.

She stepped back.

"Now," she said, "let's see if ghosts really don't exist."

I stared at her. "You didn't tell me this was the plan."

"Would you have shown up if I had?"

"...No."

"Exactly."

Am I really going to be possessed?

Ghosts don't exist. I'm sure she is just tricking the audience.

I'm... ghosts don't exist, right?

~*~*~*~*~*~

Hello Sweeties,

Next chapter is here. Enjoy!

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What are your views on the debate arguments? Which team do you support?

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Will Idris really get possessed by a ghost?

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Lady Prim