Alex sank back into the chair, the familiar hum of his mother cooking filling the kitchen. A wave of déjà vu washed over him, a strange echo of the dream where he'd sat in a chair, another woman tending to something unseen. He watched his mother, her movements practiced and comforting, yet an unsettling sensation prickled at him. Was it the dream, or was there something else, something about this scene that felt…off?
He focused on the details, trying to pinpoint the dissonance. The kitchen, the worn wooden table, the chipped mugs hanging on the rack. His mother hummed the same tune she always did while cooking, a melody both nostalgic and strangely disorienting.
