The rain had been falling for hours.It wasn't heavy — just enough to make the city sound alive.
Arin sat by the window, watching the blurred lights bleed through the glass. Every drop hit like a metronome, syncing with the static in his mind. His hands trembled slightly around the cup of coffee that had gone cold.
He didn't remember making it.
He didn't remember much of anything lately — just fragments. The crosswalk. Her voice. The red scarf. And that scream right before the sound of the world tearing apart.
He rubbed his temple, trying to shake the image away, but it clung to him like a stain.
When he looked up, the city outside flickered. Not lightning — something else. Like a frame missing from reality. A blink, but longer.
And for a split second, the reflection in the glass wasn't his.It was hers.
Elara.
She wasn't looking at him, though. She was staring somewhere far away, eyes empty, lips trembling. Then the reflection faded, replaced by his own hollow stare.
He whispered her name, half-afraid the silence would answer back.Nothing. Only rain.
He stood up. The streets outside were wet, empty. The neon sign of the café across the road buzzed weakly — "Open 24 Hours."He grabbed his jacket. The door creaked as he stepped out.
Each step echoed against the puddles. The streetlights stretched his shadow until it fractured into pieces. His mind played tricks again — he could hear the sound of a car speeding, the tires against wet asphalt, the scream of brakes.
His chest tightened. He remembered running. He remembered her hand slipping away.
The accident.
But it didn't happen here.It couldn't have.
Then why was the same truck parked at the corner?
The driver's seat was empty.Rain poured harder.
Arin walked closer. Every step felt wrong, like the world resisted his movement. The air thickened, muffling sound. When he reached the truck, his reflection looked back from the side mirror — distorted.
Then, in the faintest whisper, came her voice again.
"You can't keep trying to change it…"
He froze. His breath hitched.The sound wasn't in his head this time. It came from behind.
He turned — but the street was empty.Only a red scarf hung from a broken streetlight, swaying gently in the wind.
He reached out, hesitating, and touched it.It was warm.
And then, the world snapped ——the city dissolved into white noise,—the rain fell upward,—and everything froze.
Arin gasped, clutching his chest as if something was being pulled from him.
When the silence returned, he was standing in his room again. Morning light. Same cup of coffee. Same reflection.
But this time, the scarf was draped over the chair.