Every Tuesday at 3:33 PM, Elara blacks out — and wakes up in another version of her life.
In each glimpse of a parallel world, one thing never changes: she loves a quiet artist named Ciel... and in every lifetime, loving him ends in heartbreak.

In some worlds, they marry under rainy skies.
In others, she holds his hand as life slips away from him.
Sometimes, they never meet at all — except in passing glances that ache like memory.

In her real life, Elara tries to forget the visions, until the day Ciel walks into her café at exactly 3:33 PM.
Drawn together by dreams they shouldn't share, they fall into a love that feels older than their own hearts.

But as the blackouts grow longer, Elara must choose:

Let him go to break the cycle of loss… or hold on and risk repeating every tragedy she’s seen.

In a thousand Tuesdays, love always ends.
But maybe, in this one, the story will stay unfinished.

The week passed like breathing: unnoticed, until it stopped.


By the time Tuesday arrived, Elara's chest felt tight with something between dread and hope. She worked as usual: serving coffee, wiping tables, sketchbook tucked beside the register. The clock above the espresso machine ticked steadily toward 3:33 PM.


Don't look at the time, she told herself. Don't wait for it.


At 3:32, the café door opened. Ciel stepped in, rain misting his hair, sketchbook under his arm. He caught her gaze and smiled — the same smile from a hundred remembered afternoons, and yet somehow entirely new.


Elara opened her mouth to greet him —


The café blurred into color and shadow. She felt the familiar pull in her chest, the silent ache of leaving. For a breathless moment, she saw another life:


A hospital hallway. Fluorescent lights flickering overhead. Ciel lying on a narrow bed, skin pale, eyes too tired to stay open.


"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice cracked and thin. "I wanted… more Tuesdays with you."


Elara's eyes flew open. The smell of coffee and rain returned. The clock read 3:34 PM.


She turned. Ciel stood at the counter, looking at her with quiet worry.


"You spaced out," he said gently. "Are you okay?"


She forced a smile, though her heart still trembled with the memory of hospital walls.


"I'm fine," she lied. "Just… lost in thought."


He sat by the window again, sketchbook open. Elara watched him, memorizing the realness of him: the slight bend of his shoulders, the way he tapped the pencil against his thumb, the small crease at the corner of his mouth when he concentrated.


You're here, she told herself. This is the life where you're still here.


The rain fell steady outside. At the counter, Elara placed her hand over her own racing heart, willing it to slow. In the quiet hum of the café, a fragile hope bloomed, delicate as breath:


Chapter 4 - Another Tuesday