Alex woke up with an unsettling heaviness in his chest, as though a weight had been placed directly over his heart. The morning light slipped through the gaps in his curtains, painting pale golden lines across the walls. Dust floated lazily in the air, drifting in the quiet stillness of his room.
For a few seconds, he simply stared at the ceiling.
The memories of last night resurfaced in fragments—his family smiling, the cake, the impossible date on his phone, and the horrifying realization that time itself had betrayed him.
It was just a dream… right?
Clinging desperately to that hope, Alex turned to his side and closed his eyes again. If he fell back asleep, perhaps reality would correct itself. Perhaps the world would return to normal.
Sleep claimed him once more.
When Alex opened his eyes again, the soft hum of daytime life filtered through the open window. A distant car passed by. Birds chirped from somewhere beyond the trees. The faint aroma of breakfast drifted through the hallway, warm and familiar.
Everything felt normal.
Too normal.
He slowly sat up, running a hand through his messy hair. The texture of his bedsheets, the faint creak of the floor beneath his feet, the muted ticking of the clock on his wall—it all felt eerily identical to yesterday.
Downstairs, his family's voices echoed through the house. His mother hummed softly while preparing food. His sister Nicole laughed at something on her phone. The television murmured in the background.
It was the same.
The same sounds.
The same rhythm.
The same day.
Alex chose not to go to school—just like before.
Instead, he followed his family through a schedule that felt like a perfectly rehearsed script. They watched movies together, sprawled comfortably across the couch as sunlight filtered through the curtains. The living room smelled faintly of popcorn and fabric softener, and the soft cushions sank beneath his weight as he sat.
He laughed when he was supposed to laugh.
He nodded when he was expected to nod.
But this time, instead of immersing himself in the fun, he observed.
He paid attention to the smallest details: the exact timing of the jokes on the screen, the way Nicole reached for snacks at the same moment as yesterday, even the subtle expression on his father's face as he commented on the film.
Nothing changed.
At the water park, the bright colors of the slides gleamed under the afternoon sun. The air smelled of chlorine, sunscreen, and warm pavement. Children ran past with excited shrieks, water sparkling on their skin. The sound of splashing echoed across the pools, mixing with distant laughter and announcements from loudspeakers.
Alex sat on the edge of the pool, watching droplets ripple outward where they fell. Every splash, every scream, every movement unfolded exactly as it had the previous day.
Even the clouds in the sky seemed to hold the same shape.
So it really is repeating, he thought quietly.
A chill crept through his body.
As evening approached, his family suggested going to his favorite restaurant again. The suggestion sent a faint knot of dread twisting in Alex's stomach, though he didn't say anything.
The restaurant stood along a busy street, its warm yellow lights glowing invitingly through wide glass windows. The smell of grilled meat, spices, and freshly baked bread greeted them the moment they stepped inside.
Soft music played in the background, blending with the low murmur of conversation, the clinking of cutlery, and the occasional laughter from nearby tables.
But the moment Alex looked up—
His breath faltered.
The waiter.
The same man.
The moment their eyes met, a cold sensation crawled up Alex's spine like an invisible hand. His fingers curled tightly against his lap as memories he had tried to bury surged violently to the surface.
That face.
That smile.
That voice.
It all reminded him of the reason he had changed—why he became quiet, why he feared speaking, why his confidence had shattered long ago.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
The waiter approached with a polite smile, his posture relaxed and professional.
"What would you like to order, sir?"
Alex's throat tightened.
Words gathered on his tongue but refused to leave. The room felt smaller, the air heavier. His vision blurred at the edges as the past clawed at his mind.
His family noticed his silence and gently took over, ordering food for him.
The waiter nodded and walked away.
Alex remained frozen, his appetite gone.
The dishes arrived soon after. Steam curled lazily upward from the plates, carrying rich aromas of spice and roasted flavors. His parents chatted happily. Nicole teased him lightly. Laughter filled the table.
But Alex barely tasted a thing.
Each bite felt mechanical, flavorless. His focus remained trapped in his own head, replaying old humiliations and fear. He remembered how he used to be more outgoing, more energetic—before that single encounter shattered his self-esteem.
That trauma had shaped him.
And now it stood right in front of him again.
Later that night, they returned home.
The streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement as they walked inside. The house felt warm and familiar, yet somehow distant.
Everyone changed into pajamas.
Doors clicked shut one by one.
Silence settled.
Alex lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling once more. His body felt drained, his mind buzzing with exhaustion and anxiety.
What if it happens again?
What if the knock returns?
Minutes passed slowly.
The ticking of the clock sounded louder than usual.
Then—
A knock.
His heart nearly stopped.
Fear wrapped around his chest, tightening with every second. The memory of the previous night replayed in vivid detail. The same knock. The same voices. The same impossible repetition.
This time, Alex didn't move right away.
He waited.
The knock sounded again.
Slowly, forcing his trembling legs to cooperate, he stood up. Each step toward the door felt heavier than the last. His heartbeat pounded like a drum in his ears as he reached for the handle.
He opened the door.
It wasn't the same.
Nicole stood there alone, the hallway light casting a soft glow over her face. Her expression was gentle, warm, and sincere.
She smiled and hugged him.
"Hope you enjoyed today," she whispered. "Sleep well, okay?"
Alex stiffened briefly before relaxing into the embrace. A wave of relief washed over him.
The loop… didn't repeat.
For the first time since the nightmare began, he felt a small sense of comfort.
He returned to his bed, staring at the dim ceiling until sleep finally claimed him.
Morning came again.
Sunlight spilled into his room, illuminating the quiet space.
This time, Alex got dressed and went to school.
The streets were busy with students, the air filled with chatter, footsteps, and distant horns. Inside the school, lockers slammed shut, teachers called out instructions, and the familiar scent of chalk and paper lingered in the halls.
It felt normal.
But the moment Alex stepped into his classroom—
His steps halted.
Shock surged through him as his eyes locked onto his desk.
Someone was sitting in his seat.