Warm air wrapped around me like a memory I wasn't supposed to feel.
Soft sunlight spilled through half-open curtains.
Dust floated lazily.
A faint smell of jasmine and old books hung in the room.
It felt lived-in.
Loved-in.
The room where everything began.
The room where I died.
I stood frozen.
Because she was standing a few feet away…
The other me.
Not the monster with white glowing eyes.
Not the angry echo.
But her —
The original Anshu.
The one who lived the life I never got.
The one he loved first.
The one whose death shaped everything.
She looked exactly like me…
but softer.
Older in spirit.
Braver in a way that wasn't loud.
Her smile had weight — like she carried a lifetime of love and loss.
She stepped forward.
"I've been waiting for you."
My throat tightened.
"You… know who I am?"
She nodded.
"You're the version that survived."
Hearing her say it felt like swallowing glass.
She didn't look angry.
She didn't look jealous.
She looked… proud.
"I'm not sure I deserve to be the one who lived," I whispered.
Her expression softened.
"You didn't take my place. You continued it."
I shook my head, tears burning.
"I don't understand."
"You don't have to yet."
She pointed toward the window.
"Come with me. There's something you need to see."
I followed her through the doorway and into a memory that didn't belong to me—
but belonged to someone who looked exactly like me.
We entered a small living room.
And there he was.
The stranger.
But not the broken, fading version from my world.
This version of him looked whole.
Warm.
Alive.
His hair was messy like he'd just woken up.
His shirt half-buttoned.
He was laughing softly at something the original me had said.
My heart clenched so painfully I had to grip the nearest table.
She glanced at me.
"Does it hurt?" she asked gently.
I swallowed.
"Yes."
"It should," she said.
"Love always hurts when it remembers before you do."
He turned around.
And his eyes softened instantly — not at me — at her.
"Hey," he murmured, voice warm enough to melt every bone in my body.
"Come here."
He pulled her into his arms.
Not me.
Her.
The one he had chosen in this timeline.
The original me leaned into his chest like he was her home.
I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted metal.
"This… this was real?"
She nodded.
"This was our life."
"And the boy?" I whispered.
Her eyes warmed.
"He was ours. Born from a timeline built on love strong enough to bend time."
My chest cracked open.
"And then I died," she said softly.
"And everything broke."
A tear slipped down my cheek.
She reached out and wiped it away gently.
"You can remember it," she whispered.
"You just never let yourself."
"Why?" I asked brokenly.
"Because you were afraid remembering meant losing the version of you that exists now."
I closed my eyes.
Her voice softened even more.
"You're not wrong for surviving.
You're not wrong for living my life when I couldn't."
"But he— he's gone now," I whispered.
"My version of him is gone."
She nodded slowly.
"Because you chose yourself."
"I didn't mean to lose him."
Her eyes shimmered.
"I know. But choices rewrite timelines."
I opened my mouth to speak—
But the world suddenly flickered.
A sharp crack tore through the air.
The room glitched — furniture stretching, colors melting, the walls trembling.
She steadied me with a hand.
"You're running out of time. This memory is collapsing."
"Because I'm here?"
"No," she whispered.
"Because she is coming."
My stomach dropped.
"The other version of me?"
She nodded.
"She doesn't want you here. She wants to keep this memory as hers."
She stepped closer and gripped both my hands.
"You came here to sever your origin. To destroy the timeline that made us."
I nodded shakily.
She leaned her forehead against mine.
"But before you can destroy it, you have to understand it.
And before you can let go of a life you never lived…
you must forgive yourself."
"I didn't do anything wrong," I whispered.
"You survived," she said.
"And survival always feels like guilt when the people you loved didn't make it."
The walls cracked again.
Time shook.
Her eyes grew urgent.
"You need to go. NOW."
"I'm not leaving you here," I said firmly.
She laughed softly.
"You can't save me. I'm already dead."
My breath hitched.
"But you can save yourself."
A dark shadow rippled across the doorway.
She froze.
"She's here."
A cold, distorted voice echoed through the room:
"You don't belong in this memory."
It was her.
The broken, corrupted version of me.
The Other Me.
She stepped inside, eyes glowing white, every vein pulsing with stolen timelines.
"Get away from her," she snarled at the original me.
"She doesn't deserve your pity."
The original me stepped in front of me protectively.
"I'm not protecting her," she whispered.
"I'm protecting you."
The Other Me lunged.
Time shattered.
Light exploded.
And both versions of me collided in a blast of memories that weren't meant to exist together—
My past self.
My broken self.
My surviving self.
The timeline screamed.
And I was thrown backward into darkness.
The last thing I heard was the original me shouting:
"CHOOSE WHO YOU WANT TO BE."
---