Among the rarest accounts are those of return. Individuals who vanished after uttering the phrase sometimes reappeared, days or years later, though they were rarely the same.
One man, missing for six months, was discovered wandering outside his home, clothing unchanged from the day of his disappearance. He insisted no time had passed. "Every day," he wrote in his journal, "I wake in the same room, the same light through the window. Every night ends with a voice — sometimes mine, sometimes hers, sometimes one I don't know — whispering: See you tomorrow. Then morning comes again."
A woman resurfaced after being gone for a decade, appearing at the edge of the very station where she had last been seen. Her statement was confused, but one detail repeated: "The clocks never moved. The days never ended. Tomorrow never came, because tomorrow was always there."
Fragments of these testimonies suggest a cycle without progression, a loop in which the promise of tomorrow becomes the prison itself. The words are not merely farewell but a key — opening into a place where time holds, where tomorrow arrives endlessly but never resolves.
Most returnees did not survive long. Their minds fractured, their memories repeating like broken records. And when they were buried, their gravestones bore strange inscriptions: unmarked by family, etched only with three words.
See you tomorrow.