"Time does not heal all wounds; sometimes, it opens new ones."
Amelia stood in the middle of her favorite café, the scent of roasted coffee beans filling the air. It was the same café she'd visited for years, yet something felt… off. The walls, once a warm shade of cream, were now a pale gray. The familiar barista behind the counter wore a polite smile, but Amelia couldn't remember her name, even though they'd exchanged pleasantries countless times before.
"Amelia?" Thomas's voice broke through her thoughts. He stood beside her, his presence still strikingly foreign in the 21st century, dressed in his 18th-century coat that somehow didn't seem out of place.
"Sorry, what?" she asked, blinking at him.
"I asked if you wanted anything," Thomas said, his brow furrowing slightly. "You seem… distant."
She shook her head. "No, I'm fine."
Thomas hesitated. "Are you certain? Ever since we returned, you've seemed uneasy."
Amelia opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by a voice from behind the counter.
"Amelia, you're early today! Usual latte?"
Amelia turned to the barista. Her name tag read Mika, but something about her was wrong—her hair, usually short and dyed purple, was now long and jet black.
"Uh, sure," Amelia stammered.
As Mika prepared the latte, Amelia leaned toward Thomas. "It's like I'm living in a dream where everything is almost the same but not quite right. Even Mika looks different."
"Different how?" Thomas asked, glancing at the barista.
"She used to have purple hair," Amelia whispered. "And the walls were cream, not gray."
Thomas frowned. "Do you think this is because of our actions in the past?"
Amelia nodded slowly. "I don't know how, but… yes. It feels like the timeline is trying to patch itself together, but the seams are tearing apart."
Mika handed over the latte, smiling brightly. "Here you go. By the way, how's your sister doing?"
"Sister?" Amelia echoed, startled. "I don't have a—" She stopped herself. Mika was already chatting with another customer.
Thomas stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You don't have a sister?"
"No," Amelia whispered, her hands trembling as she clutched her latte. "But Mika clearly thinks I do."
"Then we've altered something," Thomas said, his tone grim. "We must find out what."
They left the café and walked down the bustling streets of Ipoh. The city looked the same at first glance, but Amelia noticed subtle changes. A shop she remembered as a bookstore now sold electronics. A mural on the side of a building depicted a scene she didn't recognize. Even the people walking by felt… unfamiliar.
"Amelia," Thomas said, breaking the silence. "When we were in my time, you spoke of the dangers of meddling. I believe we are now facing those very consequences."
She stopped and turned to him. "I didn't think we'd done anything major enough to cause this. All we did was save your life!"
"And in doing so, we may have disrupted events far beyond what we could see," Thomas replied. "You know time is fragile."
Amelia sighed, her frustration mounting. "So what do we do now? How do we fix this?"
Thomas looked thoughtful. "We must first understand the extent of the changes. Only then can we decide our course of action."
"Fine," Amelia said, crossing her arms. "Let's start with my apartment. Maybe it'll give us some clues."
Amelia's apartment was on the fourth floor of a modest building. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, immediately feeling a wave of unease. The layout was the same, but the décor had shifted. Her bookshelves, once filled with fantasy novels, now held books on history and science. The couch was a different color, and a painting she didn't recognize hung on the wall.
"Amelia," Thomas said softly, pointing to a picture frame on the coffee table.
She picked it up, her breath catching. It was a photo of her… with a younger girl who looked strikingly similar to her. They were laughing, arms wrapped around each other.
"It's her," Amelia whispered. "The sister I don't have."
Thomas studied the photo. "What's her name?"
Amelia turned the frame over. Scrawled on the back were the words Amelia and Amalina, 2020.
"Amalina," Amelia said, her voice barely audible.
"Do you remember her?" Thomas asked.
"No," Amelia said, setting the frame down with trembling hands. "She doesn't exist in my memories. But here, she's real."
Thomas placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "This is not your fault."
"Isn't it?" Amelia snapped, pulling away. "I'm the one who dragged you through time. I'm the one who broke the rules. And now everything's wrong!"
Thomas's expression hardened. "Amelia, listen to me. Blaming yourself won't solve this. We must focus."
She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "You're right. We need answers."
They spent hours going through Amelia's apartment, piecing together the discrepancies. Each discovery deepened Amelia's sense of unease. Her journals were filled with entries about Amalina—memories she didn't share. Her phone had photos and messages from people she didn't recognize.
"What about your parents?" Thomas suggested.
"They live a few hours away," Amelia said. "I could call them, but what do I even say?"
"Start with something simple," Thomas said. "Ask about Amalina."
Amelia nodded and dialed her mother's number. The phone rang twice before a warm voice answered.
"Amelia, sweetheart! How are you?"
"Hi, Mom," Amelia said, forcing a smile even though her heart was racing. "I'm good. I was just thinking about Amalina and wondered how she's doing."
"Oh, she's fine, dear," her mother replied. "She's been busy with her art classes. You should call her sometime. She misses you."
Amelia's throat tightened. "Yeah… I will."
After a few more pleasantries, she ended the call and turned to Thomas. "She's real to them. To everyone but me."
Thomas leaned against the wall, his jaw clenched. "This is worse than I feared. If Amalina exists here, it means the timeline has rewritten itself entirely in some areas."
Amelia sank onto the couch, her head in her hands. "What does that mean for me? For us?"
Thomas hesitated. "I don't know. But if the timeline is unstable, there's no telling what might happen next."
That night, Amelia couldn't sleep. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing with questions. What had she done? Could she ever set things right?
A soft knock at her door startled her. She got up and opened it to find Thomas standing there, his expression troubled.
"Can't sleep either?" she asked.
"No," he admitted. "May I come in?"
She stepped aside, and he entered, his presence filling the small room.
"I've been thinking," Thomas said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Perhaps the answer lies not in undoing what we've done, but in finding a way to stabilize this new timeline."
"How?" Amelia asked, sitting beside him.
"I'm not certain," Thomas said. "But we must start somewhere. Perhaps Amalina herself holds the key."
Amelia looked at him, her eyes filled with doubt. "What if I can't fix this? What if I've ruined everything?"
Thomas reached for her hand, his grip firm yet comforting. "You haven't ruined anything. You've only shown how much you care—for me, for the people around you. That is your strength, Amelia. And together, we will find a way."
She nodded, his words giving her a sliver of hope. "Tomorrow," she said, her voice steadying. "We'll start tomorrow."
As they sat in silence, the weight of the fractured timeline hung over them like a shadow. Yet in that moment, they found solace in each other's presence, determined to face whatever challenges lay ahead.