Brief
I didn’t notice when it started—she was just there, sharp and difficult and impossible to ignore in a way that didn’t make sense—but I kept looking anyway, longer than I should have, noticing things I didn’t need to notice, the way she reacted, the way she didn’t, the way she stayed even when she said she wouldn’t, and at some point it stopped being curiosity and became something else, something quieter, heavier, like I didn’t just want to understand her anymore—I wanted to see how far she’d go, how far I could follow, and more importantly… if she’d ever stop me.
I was on the floor of my room—books open, notes scattered, nothing unusual—when everything shifted without warning, not violently, just… wrong, like the space itself had been replaced mid-breath, and suddenly I was somewhere else, somewhere quieter, cleaner, unfamiliar in a way that didn’t feel accidental; I stood up slowly, already scanning, already trying to understand, and that’s when I saw them—frames on the wall, shelves lined with photos—me, older, composed in a way I hadn’t earned yet, and her, unmistakably her, standing beside me like she belonged there, like she had always been there, and in some of them there were rings, in others there were rooms I’d never seen, events I’d never lived, moments I had no memory of but still recognized, like something in me already knew how they felt; I didn’t touch anything at first, just looked, because the strangest part wasn’t that this was the future—it was that none of it felt impossible, like this version of me didn’t get here by accident, like every choice, every step, had already been made, and I was just… late to it.
