The absurdity of the situation tugs at him. Is this some kind of cosmic joke? A punishment for all his mistakes? His mind flashes to Julie, the tension between them, and the wedding he'd witnessed just hours ago—or will it years?—after. Was this fate giving him a second chance to rewrite his story? To mend bridges and fix whatever had gone wrong?
Or was it simply a cruel twist of the universe, trapping him in a time he'd already left behind?
His eyes drift to the window, where the sunlight filters through the curtains, casting soft patterns on the floor. Outside, he hears the faint hum of a lawnmower and the distant laughter of kids playing, sounds so ordinary they're almost surreal. It's a world untouched by the complications of adulthood, yet the weight of his predicament feels heavier than ever.
Jiko picks up his phone—a relic compared to what he's used to—and unlocks it. The interface is clunky, the screen tiny, and the apps primitive compared to the sleek designs he's accustomed to. He opens the calendar app and stares at the date: six years ago. His stomach churns as the reality solidifies further.
His fingers hover over the phone's keyboard. Should he call someone? Rizvan? His grandparents? Would they even believe him if he told them what was happening? Could he explain it to himself?
A new thought creeps into his mind, unbidden but insistent: If this is a second chance, what am I supposed to do with it?
The question hangs in the air, heavy with possibility and dread. The reflection in the mirror catches his eye again, and this time, he stares back at it with determination flickering in the corners of his gaze.
"Alright," he murmurs to himself. "If this is some twisted redo… I guess I'd better figure out how to make it count."
The sound of Tito yelling from the kitchen jars him out of his thoughts. "Jiko! Hurry up! You're gonna make us late!"
Jiko sighs, running a hand through his unruly hair. He's not ready for whatever this day—or this timeline—has in store, but he doesn't have a choice. Pushing himself off the bed, he grabs his backpack, pausing to take one last look at the room that feels both foreign and familiar.
As he steps out into the hallway, one thing is clear: nothing about this second chance is going to be easy.
Jiko enters the kitchen cautiously for the second time of the morning, his steps slow and deliberate as if he's walking into a dream that could shatter at any moment. The familiar smell of pancakes wafts through the air, warm and inviting, but it does little to calm his racing thoughts.
At the stove, his mother, Fahima, hums a lively tune—a melody Jiko remembers faintly but hasn't heard in years. Her dark hair is tied back in a loose ponytail, free of the silver strands he's grown used to seeing. She looks radiant, her movements light and graceful as she flips pancakes with practiced ease. She laughs at something, her joy filling the room and spilling into Jiko's chest with a bittersweet ache.
At the table, his father, Salam, sits with a steaming cup of coffee in hand, his face partially hidden behind a newspaper. Jiko stares, unable to look away. It's not just that his father looks younger—his posture is relaxed, his expression serene, untroubled by the worries that had come to weigh him down in later years. The rustle of the newspaper feels like a relic of a bygone era, and Jiko's stomach flips at the sight.
"Morning, sleepyhead! You must have had a crazy dream, maybe you time-traveled to the future or something, haha!" a voice called out, pulling Jiko out of his thoughts.
He turned and saw Tito walking into the kitchen, grinning mischievously. Jiko's breath caught in his throat. This wasn't the smooth, confident guy he'd seen at the wedding. This was young Tito—thin and lanky, with slightly too-long hair and a clumsy kind of energy. He moved awkwardly, like a boy who hadn't quite grown into himself yet.
Before Jiko could even think, Tito playfully slapped him on the back, almost knocking him over. "Whoa, dude, you look like you had a nightmare about me!" Tito laughed, grabbing a plate and piling it high with pancakes.
Jiko forced a weak smile, his mind racing. "Uh… morning," he managed to say, his voice shaky.
The kitchen felt like a scene from a cheesy TV show—bright, cheerful, and ridiculously normal. His mom was chatting with Tito about some science project he was having trouble with, and his dad was chuckling at a comic strip in the newspaper. The sound of forks on plates and the low hum of the kitchen appliances made a familiar, almost comforting background noise.
Almost.
Tito narrows his eyes at Jiko, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You didn't finish your homework last night, did you?" he teases, his voice dripping with mock accusation. "You better hope Mr. Ramiz doesn't call on you today. You know how he loves picking on slackers."
Jiko blinks, the words hitting him like a bucket of cold water. Homework? Mr. Ramiz? His mind spins as he pieces it together, the realization crashing over him like a tidal wave.
He need to go back to school again.
"Uh… yeah, I'll… I'll figure it out," Jiko stammers, desperately trying to sound normal.
Tito snorts, clearly enjoying Jiko's discomfort. "You're hopeless, man," he says, shoving a forkful of pancake into his mouth.
Jiko's hands clench at his sides, his heart pounding. The surrealism of the moment is overwhelming, but he knows he has to play along. He glances at the calendar on the wall, his eyes scanning the date. It's six years earlier, just as his computer had confirmed.
As his family continues their carefree banter, Jiko's mind races. He's back in his awkward school days, trapped in a timeline he thought he'd left behind. The thought of navigating the pitfalls of high school again makes his stomach churn, but beneath the panic, another thought lingers—a flicker of possibility.
If he's truly been thrown back in time, maybe this is his chance to change things. To fix mistakes, mend relationships, and rewrite the parts of his life he's always regretted.
But how? And at what cost?
"Jiko, you're gonna be late if you don't eat hurry," his mother says, breaking his train of thought.