# The Morning After Reality Hit
*BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.*
Celine's alarm shrieked at 7:00 AM, and her hand shot out on pure instinct, slapping it into silence.
For a blissful moment, she didn't remember. She just lay there, warm under her covers, thinking about how she needed to get up and make breakfast for Rika before—
Her eyes snapped open.
*Rika.*
She sat bolt upright, heart pounding, looking wildly around the room for her daughter's toddler bed, the stuffed animals, the nightlight shaped like a moon.
Instead, she saw her cramped dorm room. Art prints on the walls. Textbooks scattered everywhere. No daughter. No husband. No life.
"Oh," Celine breathed out. "Right. That."
The disorientation was intense, like waking up from a vivid dream only to realize your real life was the dream. She pressed her palms against her eyes, waiting for her racing heart to calm down.
*It's real. I'm really here. Nineteen years old. It's 2026. Nav is alive. Rika doesn't exist yet.*
That last thought sent a sharp pang through her chest. She missed her daughter with a physical ache. Missed her little voice saying "Mama, look!" at every butterfly and interesting rock. Missed the weight of her curled up in Celine's lap during bedtime stories.
*But she will exist,* Celine told herself firmly. *Nav and I will have her again. We just... have to get there first. And this time, I'll make sure Nav lives to see her grow up.*
She checked her phone. One new message, sent at 6:47 AM.
**Nav:** "Morning! Just finished my run. Who knew saving lives worked up such an appetite? 😤 Still on for coffee at 3?"
Celine stared at the message. Nav went running in the mornings? She'd forgotten that. By the time they'd gotten married, he'd mostly given it up in favor of sleeping in when he could. The startup life had made early mornings a precious commodity.
She typed back: "Morning. Yes, still on. Also, you go running voluntarily? In the morning?"
The reply was almost instant.
**Nav:** "Part of my charm. Gotta maintain this physique 💪 Plus, campus is actually nice when its quiet. You should try it sometime."
**Celine:** "I prefer sleeping."
**Nav:** "Lazy artist confirmed 😏"
**Celine:** "Focused on conserving energy for important things."
**Nav:** "Like coffee dates?"
Celine felt her cheeks warm. Even through text, he was flirty. This was actually fun—the playful banter without the weight of years and tragedy hanging over it.
**Celine:** "Like not falling into traffic."
**Nav:** "Fair point. Okay, conserve your energy. But only until 3. Then I expect you to be dazzling and caffeinated."
**Celine:** "I'll do my best."
**Nav:** "Thats my girl 😊 See you later!"
Celine stared at those three words. *Thats my girl.*
*I was your girl,* she thought. *I was your wife. And I'll be that again, somehow.*
She forced herself out of bed and trudged to the communal bathroom down the hall. The dorm was slowly coming to life—she could hear music playing from someone's room, the sound of shower running, two girls arguing good-naturedly about who had borrowed whose hair straightener.
It was so... normal. So mundane. So college.
In her previous life—or future life?—she'd taken all of this for granted. It was just life. But now, filtered through the lens of fifteen additional years, everything felt simultaneously nostalgic and surreal.
She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and stared at her reflection again.
*Okay, Celine. Get it together. You have classes today. You need to act normal. You can't just walk around crying and staring at your phone like a crazy person.*
Normal. Right. What classes did she have on... what day was it? Thursday? Yes, Thursday.
She wracked her memory. Art History at 9:00 AM. Studio time from 11:00 to 1:00 PM. Then free until her coffee date with Nav at 3:00.
*I can do this. Just... act like a normal nineteen-year-old student who definitely hasn't lived an entire other life.*
---
Art History was taught by Professor Tanaka, a severe woman in her sixties who had strong opinions about literally everything and wasn't shy about sharing them.
Celine slid into her usual seat near the middle of the lecture hall—not too eager, not too disengaged. Max plopped down beside her moments later, looking half-asleep and clutching a coffee like a lifeline.
"Morning," he mumbled.
"Rough night?"
"Gaming tournament. Stayed up until 3 AM." Max took a long sip of coffee, then squinted at her. "You look better. Less... shell-shocked."
"I slept well," Celine said, which was a lie. She'd barely slept at all, her mind spinning with memories and plans and the sheer impossibility of her situation.
"Good. You scared me yesterday." Max pulled out his laptop, then leaned in conspiratorially. "So. Coffee date with Mr. Perfect Hair. You nervous?"
"Should I be?"
"I don't know. Are you? Because you agreed weirdly fast. It's not like you."
*It's exactly like me,* Celine thought. *When it comes to Nav, I've never been able to help myself.*
Out loud, she said, "Maybe I'm spontaneous now."
"Since when?"
"Since yesterday. Near-death experiences change people, Max."
He snorted. "If you say so. Just remember—I'm watching from a nearby table. If he turns out to be a creep, I'll intervene."
"My hero," Celine said dryly.
Professor Tanaka swept into the room at precisely 9:00 AM, and the lecture began. Baroque art. Caravaggio and his dramatic use of light and shadow.
Celine had heard this lecture before, fifteen years ago. She'd found it fascinating then. Now, with the perspective of years of professional painting, she had... opinions. Strong opinions that Professor Tanaka was getting some things wrong about brush technique and the preparation of grounds.
She bit her tongue. Correcting the professor would not help her "act normal" plan.
Halfway through the lecture, her phone buzzed silently in her pocket. She snuck a glance.
**Nav:** "Random question: do you prefer cappuccino or latte?"
Celine blinked. Why was he asking? She typed back quickly, hiding her phone under the desk.
**Celine:** "Latte. Why?"
**Nav:** "Research purposes. Gotta know my coffee date's preferences 😉"
**Celine:** "Are you in class right now?"
**Nav:** "Technically. Advanced Algorithms. But I already know this stuff. Bored."
**Celine:** "Maybe pay attention anyway?"
**Nav:** "Why, when I could be texting you instead? Much more interesting."
Celine felt that dangerous warmth in her chest again. She remembered this about Nav—he'd never played it cool, never pretended to be disinterested. When he liked something or someone, he went all in with enthusiastic abandon.
It had been one of the things she'd loved most about him.
**Celine:** "Smooth talker."
**Nav:** "Born talent 😎 Okay, professor is glaring. Talk later?"
**Celine:** "Later."
She put her phone away and tried to focus on the lecture, but found herself smiling.
"What's that look?" Max whispered.
"What look?"
"That look. Like you just got a text from someone you like."
"I'm concentrating on Caravaggio."
"Uh-huh. Sure you are."
Celine kicked him lightly under the desk. Max grinned and went back to his notes.
The rest of the lecture passed in a blur. When it ended, Celine had two hours of studio time—her favorite part of the week. Time to just paint, experiment, let her mind quiet down.
Or at least, that's what it used to be.
She made her way to the art building, a older structure on the edge of campus with big windows and the perpetual smell of oil paint and turpentine. Her assigned studio space was on the second floor, a corner spot with good natural light.
Several other students were already there, working on various projects. Celine recognized them vaguely—classmates whose names she'd once known but had forgotten over the years.
She set up her easel and stared at the blank canvas.
What should she paint?
In her previous timeline, she'd been working on a series of urban landscapes around this time. Tokyo street scenes, captured in moody blues and grays. They'd been technically proficient but ultimately forgettable—the work of a student still finding her voice.
Later, after meeting Nav, her work had changed. Become warmer. More intimate. Her best pieces had been the ones she'd painted while happy, while in love, while building a life.
And after Nav died, she'd barely been able to paint at all. For months, she'd stared at blank canvases, unable to make herself care about color or composition or anything at all. It was only for Rika's sake that she'd eventually picked up a brush again, forcing herself through the motions until the motions became bearable again.
Now, she had a blank canvas and a head full of memories that hadn't happened yet.
Almost without thinking, she began to sketch with charcoal. Light, loose strokes. A figure taking shape.
White hair. Blue eyes. That confident posture.
She was drawing Nav.
*Of course I am,* she thought with a mixture of exasperation and tenderness. *Who else would I draw?*
She worked quickly, muscle memory from years of painting taking over. The curve of his jaw. The particular way his hair fell across his forehead. That slight smirk he wore when he was being deliberately charming.
"Wow."
Celine jumped, nearly dropping her charcoal. One of her classmates—Yuki, she remembered now—was standing behind her, looking at the sketch with wide eyes.
"That's really good," Yuki said. "Who is he? Your boyfriend?"
"No! I mean, no. Just... someone I met yesterday."
Yuki's eyebrows rose. "You met him yesterday and you're already drawing him? Damn. Must have been some meeting."
*You have no idea,* Celine thought.
"He saved me from getting hit by a car," she said, which was true enough.
"Oh my god! Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. He pulled me back in time."
"Well, that's romantic," Yuki said with a grin. "Like something out of a drama. Mysterious handsome stranger saves beautiful girl from traffic. What happens next?"
*We fall in love, get married, have a baby, and then he dies saving me again,* Celine thought darkly.
"Coffee," she said instead. "We're getting coffee later."
"Even more romantic! You better tell me how it goes." Yuki returned to her own canvas, leaving Celine alone with her sketch.
She looked at Nav's drawn face. Even in charcoal, even as a rough sketch, she'd captured something essential about him—that mixture of confidence and kindness, arrogance and genuine care.
*I'm going to save you,* she promised silently. *I don't know how yet, but I'm going to change what happens. This time, you're going to live.*
By 2:30 PM, Celine was experiencing what could only be described as a full-scale wardrobe crisis.
She'd changed outfits four times. FOUR TIMES. For a coffee date she'd already been on fifteen years ago.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered, standing in front of her closet in jeans and a bra, staring at her limited selection of clothes. "I'm a thirty-four-year-old woman. I shouldn't be nervous about coffee with my own husband."
Except he wasn't her husband. Not yet. Not in this timeline. He was an eighteen-year-old college freshman who thought she was a clumsy art student he'd heroically saved.
*What did I wear the first time?* She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember. Something casual. A skirt? No, jeans. A yellow top? Or was that the second date?
The memories were frustratingly fuzzy. That first coffee date hadn't seemed important at the time—just another date, slightly awkward, nothing special. She couldn't have known it was the beginning of everything.
Her phone rang. Max.
"Where are you?" he demanded. "It's 2:35. Don't you need to leave soon?"
"I can't figure out what to wear."
A pause. "I'm sorry, what? Did Celine just say she can't figure out what to wear? The same Celine who once showed up to a formal event in paint-stained jeans because she 'forgot to check the dress code'?"
"That was different!"
"How is this different? It's coffee. Wear literally anything."
"It's not that simple!"
"Yes, it is. Wait. Oh my god. You actually like this guy."
Celine froze, phone pressed to her ear. "I... I just met him yesterday, Max."
"Yeah, but you LIKE him. Like, actually like him. I can hear it in your voice. You're panicking over clothes. You never panic over clothes. Celine, what is happening?"
*I'm in love with him,* she wanted to say. *I've been in love with him for years. I married him. I had his child. I mourned him. And now I get to fall in love with him all over again, except I can't tell anyone because they'll think I'm insane.*
"I just... I want to make a good impression," she said lamely.
Max was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was gentler. "Hey. Celine. Breathe. You'll make a good impression because you're you. Just wear the purple top—the one that matches your hair. And those jeans that actually fit properly. Simple."
The purple top. Right. She'd forgotten about that top. It had been one of Nav's favorites, she remembered suddenly. He'd always said it brought out her eyes.
"Okay," she said. "Purple top. Jeans. I can do this."
"Yes, you can. Now I'm leaving in five minutes because I need to get there early and stake out a good surveillance position."
"Max—"
"Non-negotiable! I'm your backup. All good wingmen provide backup on potentially sketchy dates."
"It's not sketchy. It's coffee."
"With a guy who looks like an anime character come to life. I'm not taking chances. See you there!"
He hung up before she could protest further.
Celine found the purple top—a soft, flattering blouse with three-quarter sleeves—and paired it with her best jeans and the gold earrings she'd been wearing yesterday. A touch of makeup. Nothing too dramatic.
She looked at herself in the mirror.
*I look nineteen,* she thought with a strange sense of disconnect. *I look like I did when Nav and I first met. But I'm not that girl anymore. I'm someone who's already lived all of this.*
Her phone buzzed.
**Nav:** "Leaving now. See you in 15? 😊"
Her heart did a little flip. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
**Celine:** "I'll be there."
She grabbed her bag, checked that she had her wallet and keys, and headed out.
The walk to Café Serendipity took about twelve minutes. It was a gorgeous afternoon—warm but not too hot, with a light breeze that carried the scent of late-blooming flowers from the campus gardens. Students were scattered across the quads, studying or chatting or tossing frisbees.
Everything was so alive, so vibrant, so full of possibility.
Celine's hands were shaking slightly as she approached the café. It was a small place, tucked between a bookstore and a convenience store, with a cheerful blue awning and outdoor seating. She'd been here countless times in her life with Nav—for study dates, for anniversary celebrations, and finally for that proposal.
*Don't think about that now,* she ordered herself. *Focus on today. On this moment. On getting this right.*
She spotted Max immediately. He'd claimed a table near the window with a clear view of the interior, and was making a very poor attempt at looking casual while blatantly watching the door. When he saw her, he gave an exaggerated thumbs up.
Celine rolled her eyes but felt grateful for his presence anyway.
She took a deep breath, pushed open the café door, and—
"Celine!"
Nav was already there, sitting at a small table in the corner. He waved enthusiastically, his white hair catching the afternoon light streaming through the window. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt and jeans, the gold-platinum bracelet gleaming on his wrist.
He looked young and alive and perfect.
Celine's breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she couldn't move. She could only stare at him, this boy who would become her entire world, who she'd lost and somehow found again.
"Hey," Nav said, standing up. His confident smile faltered slightly. "You okay? You're looking at me weird again."
*Pull it together, Celine!*
"Sorry," she said quickly, moving toward the table. "I'm fine. Just... wasn't sure if you'd already be here."
"I'm always early," Nav said, pulling out a chair for her with a flourish. "It's one of my many attractive qualities. Along with humility."
Celine laughed—genuinely laughed—and some of her tension dissolved. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely. I'm also an excellent listener, a decent cook, and I know all the best ramen places in Tokyo." He sat down across from her, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "Plus, you know, the whole life-saving thing. That's definitely a plus."
"Right. How could I forget?"
"You can't. I won't let you." His blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "So. Latte, right? How do you take it?"
"Just regular is fine."
"Regular latte. Got it. Be right back."
He headed to the counter, and Celine took the opportunity to glance at Max. Her best friend was giving her an exaggerated questioning look, mouthing *"You okay?"*
She nodded subtly, then quickly looked away before Nav noticed.
Nav returned a few minutes later with two drinks—a latte for her and what looked like an espresso for himself. He also had a plate with two absolutely massive cinnamon rolls.
"I ordered us dessert," he announced. "Heroes deserve pastries, remember? And you're buying next time, so I'm taking advantage."
"Next time?" Celine raised an eyebrow. "Presumptuous."
"Confident," Nav corrected. "There's a difference. Besides, you agreed to this coffee date weirdly easily. I'm assuming that means you find me at least moderately interesting."
*I find you devastatingly, completely, world-endingly interesting,* Celine thought.
"Moderately," she said with a small smile.
"I can work with moderate. Give me an hour and I'll bump it up to 'very' interesting." He pushed one of the cinnamon rolls toward her. "Okay. So. Twenty questions. Let's get to know each other properly."
"Twenty questions?"
"Classic getting-to-know-you game. I ask you something, you answer honestly, then you ask me something. We alternate. Ready?"
This was new. In their original timeline, their first coffee date had been more stilted—lots of awkward pauses and safe topics. Nav's direct approach was catching her off-guard.
*But that's fine,* she realized. *This is a different timeline. Things don't have to happen exactly the same way.*
"Ready," she said.
"Excellent." Nav took a sip of his espresso. "First question: Why art? Like, what made you decide to dedicate your life to painting?"
Celine blinked. That was... surprisingly deep for a first question. She'd expected something surface-level. Favorite color. Favorite movie.
But this was Nav. He'd never been one for surface-level anything.
"I..." She thought about it. "I like creating things. Capturing moments, feelings, making something tangible out of something abstract. When I paint, the rest of the world goes quiet. It's just me and the canvas. Does that make sense?"
Nav was watching her intently, his playful expression replaced by something more genuine. "Yeah. It does. I feel that way about coding sometimes. Like you're building something from nothing. Creating order out of chaos."
"Exactly," Celine said, warming to the topic. "What about you? Why computer science? Why the startup?"
"Hey, that's two questions. But I'll allow it." Nav broke off a piece of his cinnamon roll. "Computer science because I like solving puzzles. The world is full of problems, and code is a tool to fix them. The startup..." He paused, his expression becoming more serious. "I want to build something that matters. Something that outlasts me. Leave a mark, you know?"
*You do,* Celine thought with a pang. *You leave such a mark. On me, on Rika, on everyone who knows you.*
"That's admirable," she said softly.
"Or arrogant," Nav said with a shrug, his casual demeanor returning. "Depends on who you ask. Okay, my turn. What's your family like?"
They fell into an easy rhythm. Questions and answers, alternating, slowly peeling back layers.
Celine learned that Nav was an only child, that his parents were both academics who'd met in graduate school, that he'd taught himself programming at age twelve out of boredom during a rainy summer vacation.
Nav learned that Celine had two younger siblings, that she'd decided on art as a career after her high school teacher had submitted one of her pieces to a competition without telling her (she'd won third place), that she was terrible at math but excellent at languages.
Some of this, Celine already knew from their years together. But some of it was new—details he'd never mentioned, or that she'd forgotten.
Time slipped by unnoticed. One hour became two. The cinnamon rolls disappeared. Nav ordered them both second drinks.
From his surveillance post, Max was looking increasingly bored and had pulled out his laptop, occasionally glancing up to check on them.
"Okay," Nav said eventually, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied expression. "I'm officially bumping you up from 'moderately interesting' to 'very interesting.' You're smart, funny, talented, and you haven't run away screaming yet. That's basically my entire criteria."
"Your standards are low," Celine teased.
"My standards are efficient," Nav corrected. "Why waste time? I like you. You seem to at least tolerate me. We should do this again."
*We'll do this hundreds of times,* Celine thought. *We'll have coffee together on lazy Sunday mornings, arguing about whose turn it is to go get pastries. We'll drink terrible instant coffee at 3 AM when Rika is teething and won't sleep. We'll...*
She pushed the memories away.
"I'd like that," she said simply.
Nav's confident smile softened into something more genuine—more vulnerable. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Good." He pulled out his phone, checking the time, then grimaced. "Damn. I have a meeting with my startup team in twenty minutes. I need to go." He stood up reluctantly. "But before I do—"
He reached across the table and gently took her hand.
Celine's breath hitched. His hand was warm, slightly callused from keyboard use, familiar in a way that made her want to cry.
"Thank you," Nav said seriously, "for giving me a chance. I know I come on strong. It scares some people off. But you..." He squeezed her hand lightly. "You're different. Special. I can tell."
*You have no idea,* Celine thought. *You have no idea how special you are to me.*
"You're not so bad yourself," she managed to say.
Nav grinned. "Not so bad? I'm devastated. I'll have to work harder." He released her hand, but his fingers trailed across her palm as he pulled away—a gesture so intimately familiar that Celine had to bite her lip to keep from reacting.
"I'll text you," Nav promised. "And next time—which will be soon, by the way—you're picking the place. Deal?"
"Deal."
"And Celine?" He paused at the door, looking back. "I'm really glad I met you. Even if the circumstances were nearly vehicular manslaughter."
Then he was gone, the door chiming as it closed behind him.
Celine sat very still, her hand still tingling where he'd touched it.
A moment later, Max appeared at her table, dropping into Nav's vacated chair with a theatrical sigh.
"Well," he said. "That was the most sickeningly cute coffee date I've ever witnessed. You two were making heart eyes at each other for two straight hours. I thought I was going to need insulin."
"It was not two hours."
"It was definitely two hours. Look." Max showed her his phone. 5:15 PM. They'd arrived at 3:00.
"Oh," Celine said faintly.
"Yeah, 'oh.'" Max studied her. "So. Are you going to tell me what's really going on? Because that was not a normal first date. That was..." He gestured vaguely. "That was something else. The way you looked at him. The way he looked at you. It's like you've known each other forever."
*Because we have. In another life, another timeline, we've known each other for thirteen years.*
"Maybe some people just click," Celine said quietly.
Max was silent for a long moment. Then: "Yeah. Maybe they do."
He didn't push further, which Celine was grateful for. Some things were too complicated to explain—too impossible to put into words.
They walked back to campus together as the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold. Celine's phone buzzed multiple times.
**Nav:** "Made it to my meeting. Already wishing I was still at coffee with you 😊"
**Nav:** "Is it too soon to text? I feel like it might be too soon. But I'm doing it anyway."
**Nav:** "Okay, my team is yelling at me to pay attention. Talk later?"
**Nav:** "Also, you looked really pretty today. The purple. Nice choice 💜"
Celine read the messages, a smile playing at her lips despite everything.
*This is real,* she thought. *He's real. This is happening.*
And for the first time since her regression, she allowed herself to feel something other than grief and confusion.
She felt hope.
---
The Morning After (The Coffee Date)
Celine woke up to seventeen new messages.
For a disoriented moment, she thought it was Rika—her daughter had gone through a phase where she'd figured out how to use Celine's tablet and would send dozens of random emoji combinations before breakfast.
But no. These were from Nav.
**Nav (10:47 PM):** "Question: do you believe in love at first sight?"
**Nav (10:48 PM):** "Wait, that came out wrong. Not saying I'm in LOVE. Just... intrigued by the concept."
**Nav (10:52 PM):** "Okay that made it worse."
**Nav (10:53 PM):** "I'm going to stop texting now before I embarrass myself further."
**Nav (11:34 PM):** "...I didn't stop."
**Nav (11:35 PM):** "In my defense, I'm bad at playing it cool. One of my many flaws."
**Nav (12:02 AM):** "My teammate just pointed out that sending multiple texts to a girl you JUST met makes you look desperate. He's probably right."
**Nav (12:03 AM):** "But also, I don't really care? 😅"
**Nav (12:15 AM):** "Okay, forcing myself to go to sleep now. Sweet dreams, Celine."
Then, this morning:
**Nav (6:23 AM):** "Morning! Did my text spam scare you off?"
**Nav (6:45 AM):** "If I scared you off, that's embarrassing and please forget everything I said after 10 PM."
**Nav (7:02 AM):** "But if I DIDN'T scare you off... coffee again sometime?"
**Nav (7:35 AM):** "You're probably still asleep. Normal people sleep past 7 AM. I forgot."
**Nav (7:51 AM):** "Okay, I'm going to stop checking my phone every thirty seconds like a crazy person."
**Nav (7:52 AM):** "...Probably."
**Nav (8:04 AM):** "Definitely not stopping. Send help."
Celine stared at her phone, caught somewhere between exasperated laughter and overwhelming affection.
*This,* she thought. *This is the Nav that nobody else gets to see. The one who overthinks and second-guesses and sends seventeen texts because he can't help himself.*
In public, Nav was confident, charming, always in control. But with her—even from the very beginning—he'd let that mask slip. Let her see the eager, slightly dorky boy underneath the entrepreneur persona.
She'd forgotten how endearing it was.
She typed back: "I'm awake now. And no, you didn't scare me off. Your text spam is actually kind of adorable."
The reply was instant.
**Nav:** "ADORABLE? I'm going for mysterious and cool 😎"
**Celine:** "You're definitely not mysterious. Cool is debatable."
**Nav:** "Ouch. Brutal. I like it 😏"
**Nav:** "So... coffee again? Or are you sick of me already?"
**Celine:** "We just had coffee yesterday."
**Nav:** "Exactly. It's been a whole 15 hours. I'm going through withdrawal."
**Celine:** "Coffee withdrawal or Celine withdrawal?"
**Nav:** "Both? Definitely both."
Celine felt her cheeks warm. She was thirty-four years old—she'd been married to this man for years—and he could still make her blush with a simple text.
**Celine:** "I have classes today. And studio time."
**Nav:** "What about dinner?"
**Celine:** "Dinner?"
**Nav:** "Yeah, you know. That meal people eat in the evening. I hear it's quite popular."
**Celine:** "Very funny."
**Nav:** "I try 😊 But seriously. Dinner. Tonight. There's a good okonomiyaki place near campus. Say yes?"
Celine hesitated. Not because she didn't want to—God, she wanted to spend every possible moment with him while she had the chance. But moving too fast might be suspicious. Normal nineteen-year-olds didn't go on dates two days in a row with someone they'd just met.
Then again, she and Nav had never been normal.
**Celine:** "Okay. But you're buying."
**Nav:** "Deal! 7 PM? I'll pick you up at your dorm."
**Celine:** "You don't know which dorm I'm in."
**Nav:** "So tell me 😊"
She did. And spent the next ten minutes talking herself out of the mild panic attack that followed.
*This is fine,* she told herself. *You're just accelerating the timeline a bit. It's fine. You know how this story goes.*
Except she didn't. Not anymore. Everything she changed, every choice she made differently, could have ripple effects. Butterfly wings and hurricanes and all that.
*But I have to change things,* she reasoned. *If I let everything happen exactly the same way, Nav dies. That's the whole point. I need to change the outcome.*
She just hoped she wasn't changing it in the wrong direction.
---