I woke up to a strange stillness, my senses slowly adjusting to the unfamiliarity of the room. The bed felt smaller, the walls closer, the air lighter. It wasn't my bedroom. It was…
I sat up, my eyes scanning the room. The closet held a neatly pressed school uniform, the desk was cluttered with books and papers, and on the floor lay a silver pocket watch. My breath caught. It was my pocket watch—but it wasn't broken. It should have been.
I stood on shaky legs and caught sight of a mirror beside the door. My reflection made me gasp. My hair was long again, falling past my shoulders, and my face was free of the lines I'd grown accustomed to. I looked… younger. Like I did in high school.
This has to be a dream. I pinched myself hard, wincing at the sting.
"Astrid, breakfast!"
My heart stopped. That voice. I knew that voice. I bolted out of the room, the hallway around me becoming more familiar with each step. The photos on the walls, the staircase, the scent of morning coffee—it was all from a life I thought I'd left behind.
I burst into the kitchen, and there she was. Her silver hair was tied in a bun, her ocean-blue eyes soft but sharp as she carried a plate of spaghetti.
"Astrid, why aren't you dressed yet?" she asked, her tone tinged with amusement.
Tears spilled down my cheeks as I ran to her. "Mom," I whispered, wrapping my arms around her tightly. "I'm so sorry."
She stiffened in surprise, then gently set the plate down. "Well, you should be—I almost dropped this spaghetti," she said with a laugh. Then, her voice softened. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"
I pulled back, her familiar warmth anchoring me in this impossible reality. "Nothing," I said, forcing a smile. "Everything's fine."
Her smile was the warmest I'd seen in years. "Good. Now eat before it gets cold. And don't forget, I packed you spaghetti for lunch. This is some leftover spaghetti."
Spaghetti for lunch. My 15th birthday. Memories flooded back. This was the day I first met Darian. The day everything started.
But not this time.