When I opened my eyes again, I found myself standing at the threshold of my first day at the internship.
"Wow… perfect timing," I muttered, voice dry with disappointment.
Just like that, I had missed her wedding.
One month into the internship—no breaks, no exceptions. Not even for her. Not even for the girl who once meant everything.
With a tired sigh, I shuffled toward the elevator. The doors slid open with a soft chime, and I stepped inside, letting it carry me to the same floor, the same room, the same routine. Our adviser's voice echoed through the space, drowning the air like white noise as he lectured a group of wide-eyed interns.
It was all painfully familiar. Too familiar.
I had done this before—not once, not twice, but for ten long years. And here I was again, caught in a loop I couldn't escape. A carousel of déjà vu.
I sat through the lecture, completed the assignments, and let the hours melt away in a blur of apathy. Another hollow day. It felt like watching someone else live my life while I floated above it—detached, indifferent, lost.
Then came the vibration.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced at the screen: a message from my mother. Something about another family issue.
Of course.
I didn't even want to open it. I didn't need to. The pattern was the same: endless arguments with my father, relentless accusations, bitterness woven into every word. It never ended.
And I never understood why she stayed. Why she let herself be insulted and belittled by a man drowning in his own insecurities.
I didn't want to think about it. Not now. Not while I was already fraying at the edges.
Even in this chaos, I couldn't say I missed school. I had good friends back then—great, even—but that didn't make up for how suffocating everything felt. That house. That life.
That's why I left. Packed my bags, left the country, cut the cord. I couldn't breathe under that roof anymore.
I shoved the phone back into my pocket and walked down the sidewalk. Streetlights flickered overhead like faulty memories. I tried to push it all away. The past, the resentment, the weight. It didn't belong here.
But in this timeline… my father was still alive.
The same man I'd already grieved in the present—here again, just out of reach, like a ghost walking beside me. I shook the thought off.
No. I had more pressing things to worry about.
Rachel and Raven. The truth between them was still buried somewhere ahead of me, tangled in time. Maybe Rachel would call in a month. Maybe I'd finally get answers.
But then it hit me—hard and sudden.
I had made a mistake.
If I wanted to stay in this timeline, I couldn't afford to fall asleep.
Because every time I did, I slipped backward again—back to sixth grade. Over and over. A cruel reset.
There had to be a reason. A trigger. A connection.
Then I remembered.
The tablet.
My old, battered tablet—ancient by today's standards, but something about it felt important. It was the same device my father would destroy in a fit of rage.
What if I stopped him?
What if saving the tablet meant breaking the loop?
Could I stop the time shifts altogether? Or better yet—control them?
I looked up at the night sky, letting the cool wind hit my face. The lines between past and future blurred like waves crashing into each other. But amid the confusion, one thing stood crystal clear:
I had to protect that tablet.
I had managed to slip into this timeline. For now. But it wouldn't last if I slept again.
If I wanted to save the tablet, I had to reach the Time Station.
I'd go there after I drifted off—whenever sleep pulled me back again. It was the only way. Once there, I'd stay hidden until that day arrived.
Or… could I just travel straight to the moment it all broke?
I stopped walking.
My thoughts spun. I couldn't remember the exact day my father shattered the tablet. I had forgotten.
And sometimes—God help me—I wished I could kill him.
I flinched at the thought. He was dead now. In the future. And… so was I.
Whatever. None of that mattered now.
I had a mission.
A deadline.
A second chance.
I made my way back to the apartment—the one I was still living in during this timeline. The same place I'd move out of a year from now. As I walked down the familiar street, something heavy stirred in my chest.
Nostalgia.Sharp and sudden.
Going to the past had a way of dragging memories out of hiding—the ones I cherished, and the ones I buried deep, hoping they'd stay forgotten.
I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button with a quiet exhale. As the doors closed, my reflection blinked back at me from the steel surface, tired and distant.
When I arrived on my floor and turned the corner toward my old apartment, my steps slowed.
There, just outside the door, sat a pair of men's shoes.
I stopped.
My breath caught in my throat. I stared at them, heart beginning to thud.No. It can't be.I wasn't ready to face him.Not him.
I swallowed hard, the lump rising in my throat heavier than I'd expected. I had a bad habit—whenever something hurt too much, I didn't deal with it. I pushed it away. Distracted myself. Pretended it didn't exist.
That's how I survived.
But seeing him again? That would break open everything I had sealed shut.
I took a step back, already turning away—ready to walk off like I always did when life became too much. Just walk away, let it pass. I didn't need to reopen old wounds.
But then I heard it.
The soft creak of the door.
I froze.
I didn't turn. I didn't want to. I knew he wouldn't say my name. He wouldn't call after me. He didn't have that power—not anymore.
Or so I thought.
But then… footsteps.
Steady, slow, and then—his hand wrapped gently around my wrist.
I turned. Slowly.
And there he was.
His brown eyes locked onto mine, wide and quiet, asking all the questions he couldn't say out loud. His lashes blinked softly, the way they always did when he was confused. Or hurt. Or both.
It was like the universe had played a cruel trick on me.
The one person I had run from—the one person I had worked so hard to forget—was standing right in front of me again, holding me like I never left.
And I felt it.
That ache.
The one that started low in my chest and spread like a wildfire. The one I had pushed down for so long, I forgot how much it burned.
I looked up at him and saw him signing slowly with his free hand, my voice caught somewhere between my ribs:
"Oakley… why were you going away?" He asked.
He blinked. His fingers tightened gently around my wrist, but I didn't respond.
And by this timeline—this moment—the storm hadn't hit yet.The rift between us hadn't torn open.Not yet.
I had come back to solve the mystery around Rachel. That was all.But the past… it had its own plans for me.
He was part of it. Whether I liked it or not.
I looked at him and forced a smile—the kind that didn't quite reach my eyes.
"Where?" I said lightly, keeping my tone casual. "I saw your shoe outside. So, I thought you came. How about I grab some snacks and we hang out for a bit?"
I spoke out loud. He could hear me, even if he couldn't speak. I didn't want to stir anything, didn't want him to suspect a thing. After all, this timeline wouldn't last. The moment I fell asleep again, I'd slip away—skip past this part like it never happened.
So I did what I always did: skipped the emotion. Skipped the confrontation. Skipped him.
But he didn't move. He just looked at me.
And in that stillness, I knew—he was reading me like a book I never learned how to close.
Then his hands moved. He started signing:
"Did something happen? You look quite sad to me."
I laughed it off, stepping into my apartment like it meant nothing. "Where?"
But before I could disappear behind the door, he reached out and gently tapped my shoulder—his usual way of telling me he was about to sign again.
I turned.
He was staring at me—through me—with those same eyes that had always known more than I ever said.
Then came the signs, fluid and steady:
"You know I can read through you.""Did something happen?"
I froze for a second.
I hadn't come back to face this.
I didn't want to explain the ache, the exhaustion, the time-traveling mess I couldn't even begin to make sense of. I didn't want to open this door—not with him standing in it.
But he was right.
He could see straight through me.
And even here, in a borrowed moment from the past, that truth still held.
I stood there, frozen in the doorway, his eyes searching mine like they always did—quietly, patiently, as if he already knew I was about to run.
How could I say it?
How could I tell him that in the future… we wouldn't be together?
That it wasn't fate, or distance, or time that tore us apart.It was me.I'd be the one who ruined it.The one who broke something good—something innocent—like him.
He didn't deserve that.
And yet, it still happened.
I wanted to say it. I wanted to warn him, to apologize in advance for a future I couldn't change. But the words were like glass in my throat—sharp, fragile, dangerous.
So instead, I just looked at him. Held his gaze for a moment longer. Let the silence speak in ways my voice couldn't.
I broke the stare.
He held it for a moment longer, then quietly closed the door behind him.
I sank into the sofa, my body heavy with a silence I didn't know how to shake. He stepped in front of me, hands moving gently as he signed:
"Oakley, you definitely look sad."
I forced a light laugh, brushing it off the way I always did.
"Where, sir?" I teased, my voice lifted in a joking tone I didn't quite feel.
It was easier this way—to bury it. To pretend.
Coming from the future, knowing we wouldn't end up together… it hurt in a way I couldn't even begin to explain. A dull, constant ache under the surface.
But I wasn't here to fix it.
He deserved someone better. Someone who wouldn't mess things up the way I did. Someone who wouldn't break something good out of fear and confusion.
He watched me carefully, then signed again:
"I can see you."
That made me pause.
I met his eyes and quickly looked away again, forcing a grin as I replied, "Oh come on. I really aren't. Just happy to see you, that's all."
My voice was too chipper, too fake. Like wrapping a bruise in glitter.
He held my gaze a little longer, then signed with a small shrug:
"If you say so."
I gave him a faint smile.
It didn't reach anywhere near my heart.
"I cooked your favorite spicy foods," Caspian signed, his fingers moving with practiced ease.
I looked up just as he smiled—that same delighted smile that used to make my heart ache in the best ways.
"I'll serve them," he added with a playful tilt of his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling just slightly. The way they always did when he was happy.
I tried to smile back, but something inside twisted.Because in the future, he wouldn't smile at me like that anymore.And somehow, that made this moment… even sadder.
As if he could feel the shift in me, he paused and signed:
"Why do you keep looking at me like… you're sad just to see me?"
I quickly looked away.
"Where?" I replied automatically, my voice strained but light.
He let out a breath, not annoyed, just… tired. Familiar.
"You keep saying the same thing. 'Where' and 'where.'"
I forced a chuckle, then said, "It's nothing, believe me. If something really happened… don't you think I'd tell you?"
He stared at me a beat too long, then nodded slowly, signing:
"Yeah, right.""Okay then. I'll bring the food."
He turned his back to head toward the kitchen, and for a second, the world blurred.
A flash of the past struck me like lightning.
Him in that same kitchen. Laughing. Cooking. Telling me about his dreams with his hands, with his eyes. I thought I had moved on. I thought I had buried those feelings deep enough not to feel them anymore.
But they were still there. Lingering like a dull needle beneath the skin—unseen, but always, always hurting.
I had once lectured Rachel in high school for not being able to let go of her ex. I remember rolling my eyes, telling her to just walk away.
Now I knew why she couldn't.
It hurts.
And before I could stop myself, I said it. Something I hadn't meant to say out loud.
"Caspian…" I spoke softly."What would happen if I got jealous of you… and tried to ruin you?"
He stopped mid-step.
Slowly, he turned around. His wide, brown eyes locked onto mine, confusion swirling in them. His smile had faded, replaced with quiet stillness.
Then he signed:
"If you tried to ruin me…""I would be hurt.""Betrayed.""Broken."
His hands fell to his sides.
And the silence between us suddenly felt louder than anything else in the room.
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