[Timestamp: 07:02 A.M. | ]
The alarm blares. My eyes snap open. My heartbeat is steady—too steady. Because I already know what's coming.
I turn my head. The clock reads 7:02 A.M. again. Just like before. Just like always.
Outside, the world is waking up, yet it feels strangely still—like a painting that hasn't fully dried. The air is dense, heavy, almost humming with an unseen energy. The pale morning light filters through my curtains in thin, golden streaks, yet for a moment, the sky outside seems… wrong.
It's too orange, as if the sun rose too fast or too slow, or maybe never moved at all. I blink, and the sky shifts back to its usual pale blue.
I swallow hard. Was that real? Or was it another crack in this broken cycle?
[07:15 A.M.]
I leave my bed ten seconds later than usual. I move my water glass to the opposite side of my desk. I wear a different-colored tie than the one I always reach for. Small things. Insignificant, right? But when I step downstairs…
My mother is exactly as she was before.
She hums the same tune, sets the same plates in the same way, and greets me with the same words.
"Big day," she says, just like always. "New semester, new beginnings. Are you ready?"
I hesitate before responding. The loop is powerful enough to correct small changes, but what about big ones?
I take a deep breath. I need to push harder.
[07:45 A.M.]
As I step outside, a gust of wind rushes past, rattling the trees. The air feels thick, electric, like the moments before a storm. But there are no clouds. The sky is too clear, too empty, like something forgot to finish painting it.
I turn left instead of right—away from school.
But within minutes, I somehow end up back on the same street.
My feet feel heavier than before. My breath catches in my throat. It's as if something corrected my mistake, forcing me toward my usual path.
A shiver runs down my spine. The loop doesn't just reset time. It controls it.
[08:00 A.M. | Near the School Gates]
And then I see her.
She stands near the school entrance, long dark hair swaying gently in the wind. The strands catch the morning light, shifting between warm brown and deep black, like ink dissolving in water.
But this time, something is off.
She's looking at me.
I freeze.
She's never done that before.
Her gaze lingers, just for a second, before she turns and disappears into the school building.
My pulse pounds in my ears. The loop is supposed to be the same. Everything is supposed to be the same.
But she changed.
The wind kicks up again, scattering leaves across the pavement. Somewhere in the distance, I hear the faintest sound—like whispering voices carried by the breeze. But when I turn my head, there's nothing there.
The back of my neck prickles.
She remembers something too.
And I need to find out why.