The shared joke about the jam-jar opener broke the ice, allowing a fragile curiosity to take root. Aurora settled back onto the bench, crossing her legs. She wasn't fearful of Aaron's intensity; she was intrigued.
"You know, for a man who just confessed to manipulating reality, you seem surprisingly grounded," Aurora observed, handing him a perfectly baked scone. "The woman you loved—Audrey—she was the subject of a time paradox you created. And now, you're here. And I got a weird note that connects us to a memory that shouldn't exist."
Aaron took a bite of the scone, savoring the taste of ordinary, consequence-free flour and butter. "I've learned that the universe doesn't like loose ends. I erased the magic, but maybe not the emotional ripple. I need to know if this is a final goodbye from a lost reality, or a new beginning."
"Or maybe," Aurora suggested, tapping her chin thoughtfully, "it's a warning."
"It's a note for you, not me. Why would someone want you to talk to a broken man?"
"Perhaps you're only broken because you're alone. If this is truly about fate, then maybe the note writer isn't trying to manipulate you, but to guide you—to the life you were supposed to have, with a different person." Aurora's suggestion was unnerving in its simplicity. "We should talk to your friends. They'll either call the police or give us a scientific explanation."
Aaron agreed, thinking of his original core group: the cautious scientist and the practical jokers. In this new, stable timeline, his relationship with them felt less strained by the constant emergencies of the old reality.
They soon met up at a quiet coffee shop near the university. Anirudh, now a calm, methodical accountant, was the first to arrive. Abhimanyu, a boisterous marketing executive, followed, cracking a joke about Aaron finally dating. Ameya, the sharpest mind of the group, a data science researcher, arrived last, her expression always focused.
Aaron laid out the entire story, starting with the original discovery of the note, the life-and-death games he played to save Audrey, his final, desperate act of erasure, and the appearance of the new, blue-ink note to Aurora.
Silence descended over the table, thicker than the steam from the cappuccinos.
Abhimanyu broke it first, whistling. "Man, that's heavy. So, for a year, you were basically a time terrorist, all for love? It's like a Hollywood blockbuster that ends with a guy deleting himself."
Anirudh frowned, rubbing his chin. "The most concerning thing isn't the magic, Aaron, it's that you remember it all. If you erased the past, your brain should have overwritten those memories. The fact that the memory of Audrey's jam jar is so vivid means that the timeline deletion was incomplete."
Ameya, however, was already pulling out her notepad. "I told you years ago," she stated, her voice sharp and academic. "Time travel isn't about one fixed line. You didn't delete the past; you only created a divergence. You're now operating on a parallel line of existence. Everything you did—the love, the danger, the notes—it all still exists in the original, 'flawed' timeline. You just jumped ship."
She tapped her pen on the table, her eyes alight with research fervor. "The love you felt for Audrey and the desperation to save her were so immense, they became an energy source. You, Aaron, are an anomaly—a consciousness that carried the memory of the original timeline into the new one. The note to Aurora wasn't written by you in this timeline, but by the echo of the original timeline. Maybe a ghost of your former self, or even a residual thought from Audrey's final reality."
Aurora listened intently, nodding. "So, the note is an emotional leakage. A kind of cosmic reminder that, even if he reset the universe, the love was real enough to breach the timeline barrier."
Aaron felt a chill. The notion that his actions hadn't created an empty void, but a whole other reality where his past self was still desperately fighting for Audrey's life, was overwhelming. The memory was not just his; it was a lingering trace of an entire, parallel existence.
"If the memory exists," Aaron said, a desperate thought forming, "does that mean Audrey exists in the original timeline, still in danger, and still in love with me?"
Anirudh put a hand on his shoulder. "That timeline is closed to you, Aaron. Your consciousness is here now. But this note… this note is a gift. It's a chance to build something new, without the burden of death hanging over it. Focus on Aurora. The universe sent her here. This is your chance at a life that isn't written in fatal ink."
Aaron looked at Aurora, whose steady green eyes met his. She was the anchor in this chaotic, unbelievable theory. He decided he couldn't leave this new note uninvestigated, but not out of obligation to Audrey. He owed it to himself, and now, to Aurora, to understand the new rules of his reality.
"Okay," Aaron said, folding the note and placing it carefully in his wallet. "If the note writer knows about the past, then they know where to leave clues. We need to go back to the source."
"The willow bench," Aurora said, already standing. "Let's see what else the universe decided to drop off for you."