I jolted awake—gasping, tangled in my sheets like I'd just escaped a nightmare I couldn't explain.
My heart thundered in my ears.
No blood.
No rain.
No alley.
No gun.
No tall, shadowy man with dead eyes.
Just the soft hum of the ceiling fan above and the bright morning light filtering through the curtains.
"Holy crap… it was just a dream," I whispered, flopping back onto the mattress.
"Oh my god. That was ridiculous. I watch one mafia drama and now I'm dying in alleyways like some tragic heroine?"
I groaned and dragged myself out of bed with the grace of a limp sock. My legs barely responded as I shuffled toward the bathroom.
Cold water hit my face like a slap, and for a second, it helped. But then the images of last night-or...dream? -flickered in my mind again.
The rain.
The gun.
The pain.
That horrible emptiness.
"I swear," I muttered to the mirror, wrapping my wet hair in a towel, "if I have one more nightmare with slow-motion death scenes and cinematic lightning, I'm suing my subconscious."
"Can't I just dream about kissing someone under fairy lights like a normal person?"
Coffee. That would fix my mood.
I shuffled into the kitchen, still in bathrobe, made a cup.
The aroma filled the apartment—warm, sharp, comforting.
I collapsed onto the couch with the mug in both hands, like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.
The news was already playing softly on the TV, the same generic morning anchor voice delivering tragedy with fake empathy.
"Breaking News: A devastating explosion last night at Midtown Gas Station has left authorities shaken—"
I furrowed my brows.
"This again? Didn't this already happen... like, a week ago?"
I raised an eyebrow at the screen.
"Wow, the news stations are doing reruns now? What's next, a recap of my mental breakdown in HD?"
I laughed softly, taking another sip of coffee.
Then I froze.
My smile dropped.
I set my mug down slowly, eyes locked on the screen.
"Wait…"
I leaned forward.
"Last night?"
"But.... I saw this already. A week ago..."
It was the same footage. The exact same angle. The same smoking rubble, the same flickering streetlight above the scene.
"Something's off."
Bzzzz—Bzzzz—Bzzzzzz.
My phone buzzed from the dining table. I stood, eyes still glued to the screen, and grabbed it.
Caller ID: Mira.
Perfect timing.
I answered without looking away from the flames on the screen.
"Yo."
"Luna," Mira's voice came through, urgent. "Are you watching the news?"
"Yeah, I'm watching. But... why are they rebroadcasting this? What's going on?"
"What? What are you talking about?"
"The explosion," I said, frowning. "They already ran this last week. I remember it clearly."
"Huh?"
"Did the news team lose their mind or something?"
Silence
"...Luna," she said quietly, suddenly serious. "That explosion happened last night, around 10 p.m."
The color drained from my face.
"No, that's not right."
I turned my head toward the screen slowly, dread creeping into my bones.
"It already happened."
"...Dear, are you okay?" Mira's voice was laced with concern now. "Did you pull another all-nighter? Please don't tell me you're skipping sleep for that dumb theater project again—"
I wasn't listening anymore.
The screen in front of me flashed a timestamp in the corner.
Date: June 12.
Time: 9:05 a.m.
Not June 20.
Not even close.
But .... Yesterday was June 19th.....
I stood slowly and turned to my desk.
I tore open my bag, rifling through it, searching for anything to make this make sense.
My theater project files were gone.
The study notes I'd written last week—not even started.
The final remarks from the director? Nothing.
"What the hell…?"
I remembered going to the theater yesterday to receive the marks on my project.
We watched all the students' videos together.
The director stood at the front, proudly announcing that our team from Hudson University had been selected to compete in the all-island competition.
But I also remembered not being in a good mood.
Because I was the one who had the lowest marks.
The director said my project was far from realistic—"too fictional to reflect the real world," he said.
His words echoed even as the applause continued for others.
When I stepped outside, all the other students were already gone.
It started to rain. I remember using the shortcut to come ....
And then—
Wait.
I didn't remember falling asleep last night.
Not brushing my teeth.
Not changing into pajamas.
Not even getting into bed.
The last thing
I remembered...
WAS DYING.
A cold silence settled in the room.
That wasn't a dream.
My fingers trembled as I touched the edge of the couch for balance. My knees didn't trust me anymore.
I looked across the room.
The mirror caught my reflection—and for a moment, I didn't recognize the girl staring back.
"Did I just… come back in time?" I whispered.
It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense.
"Okay. Okay. Luna, calm down," I muttered, running a hand through my damp hair.
"You died yesterday. June 19. But you woke up on June 12."
The truth sat in my stomach like a frozen stone.
This couldn't be real. It felt like one of those fantasy dramas where time bends, and fate forgets the script."
"Did the universe give me a second chance or something?"
I stood, pointed dramatically at the air.
"Yes. That's it. The universe gave me a second chance."
"Because I didn't do anything to deserve getting murdered by some lunatic in a black coat!"
I collapsed onto the couch again, face-first into the nearest pillow.
"...I really need therapy," I mumbled, my voice muffled by the cushion.
I wasn't sure whether to cry, laugh, or make another cup of coffee.
Maybe all three.