He didn't trust his eyes.
He didn't trust himself.
His mother kept talking while placing breakfast on the table, completely unaware that her son was staring at her like someone returned from the dead.
"Eat fast. First day itself you don't want to be late," she said.
First day.
College
The words echoed in his head.
He looked at the calendar on the wall.
The date was correct.
The year was correct.
Years before the accident. Before the job. Before regret had carved itself into his chest.
His hands trembled slightly as he picked up the steel tumbler of coffee. It was hotter than he expected. The burn felt real.
Pain.
Good. Pain meant this wasn't a dream.
He walked to his room and checked his phone.
An old model. One he hadn't seen in years.
No corporate emails. No office groups. No missed calls from his best friend. No news articles.
No obituary.
His breathing became shallow.
Think.
If this was a dream, it would break. If it was a hallucination, it would fade.
He stepped outside the house and looked at the street. The same old neighbour watering plants. The same milkman arguing about change. A dog that had died long ago wagged its tail near the gate.
He felt dizzy.
"Are you okay?" his mother called from inside.
"Yes," he replied automatically.
But he wasn't.
On the way to college, he noticed everything. The cracked road near the signal that would be repaired next year. The under-construction building that would later become a shopping complex. The political banner that would disappear after elections.
Everything was aligned with the past.
His past.
College looked younger too fresh paint, students moving in uncertain groups, first-day excitement floating in the air. He saw faces he hadn't seen in years. Some would become close. Some would fade.
Some would die.
He walked into his classroom and sat at the back.
His best friend entered a few minutes later, laughing loudly as always. Alive. Carefree. Not yet broken by grief.
Their eyes met.
For a second, he almost stood up and hugged him.
Instead, he forced a smile.
"Machaa," his friend said, dropping his bag on the desk. "Ready for four years of torture?"
He nodded.
Four years.
Four years before she would graduate. Four years before she would get that job. Before the temple. Before the lorry.
His heartbeat quickened again.
If this was real if he truly had come back then this was not a miracle.
It was a chance.
But a chance for what?
To confess?
To save her?
To change everything?
Or to ruin something worse?
He needed proof. Something small. Something controlled.
During lunch break, he walked toward the small canteen behind the mechanical block. In his previous timeline, he had slipped there on a wet patch on the second week of college and sprained his ankle. A minor incident. Nothing important.
It would happen tomorrow.
He remembered clearly.
As he stood near the entrance, he saw the same worker washing the floor carelessly, water spreading across the tiles.
Students walked past without noticing.
In his memory, he had rushed inside, distracted, and slipped.
He could feel the phantom pain in his ankle even now.
This time, he stopped.
He waited.
He watched a junior almost step into the wet patch.
Without thinking too much, he moved forward and pulled the boy back.
"Careful," he said.
The worker looked up, annoyed.
He grabbed a nearby board and placed it over the wet floor.
Floor Wet.
Simple.
Small.
Insignificant.
His ankle didn't twist.
No one fell.
Nothing dramatic happened.
But as he stood there, staring at the dry path he had just created, a strange feeling crept into his chest.
The future was not as fixed as he had believed.
He had changed something.
Very small.
Very harmless.
But changed.
And somewhere deep inside, hope and fear began growing together.
He told himself to stay calm.
Seeing her again would change nothing. It shouldn't. In this time, she was still just his best friend's younger sister. A junior. Someone he had already decided to love quietly, from a distance.
Yet his heartbeat didn't listen.
He first saw her outside the college library.
She stood under the shade of a tree, scrolling through her phone, her bag hanging loosely from one shoulder. The same posture. The same calm confidence. Except now, she was younger. Unburdened. Alive in a way that hurt to look at.
For a moment, his mind betrayed him.
She's alive. You can save her.
He forced the thought down.
She looked up, noticed him staring, and frowned slightly then smiled in recognition.
"Anna," she said, walking closer. "You joined here too?"
That word.
It hit him harder than he expected.
"Yes," he replied, a little too quickly. "Just… first year."
She nodded, talking casually about her classes, her department, how confusing the campus felt. He listened, but not like before. Before, he had listened because he liked her. Now, he listened because every word felt precious.
He remembered details she hadn't shared yet in this timeline her habits, her future plans, the job she would one day get. Knowledge he shouldn't have.
That scared him.
He kept the conversation short. Polite. Safe.
Later that day, he met his best friend near the ground. They spoke about nothing important, until his friend casually mentioned her.
"She's stubborn," he laughed. "Does everything by herself. Even rides the bike alone everywhere."
The word bike stayed with him.
That night, lying on his bed, the future replayed in fragments. Temple road. Late night. A vehicle coming too fast. One wrong second.
He couldn't ignore it.
The next day, he made a small decision.
When he saw her about to leave campus, helmet in hand, he stopped her.
"Why don't you take the bus sometimes?" he asked casually. "That road near the temple is risky."
She raised an eyebrow. "You sound like my brother."
He smiled weakly. "Just saying."
She shrugged it off, laughing. "I'll be careful."
It should have ended there.
But later that evening, his phone buzzed.
A message in the college group.
Accident near mechanical block. One student injured.
His stomach dropped.
It wasn't her.
It was someone else.
A junior who usually took the bus but today, borrowed a bike because the bus was late.
He sat down slowly, phone slipping from his hand.
Nothing major had changed.
Nothing dramatic.
He had only spoken a sentence.
Only offered advice.
And yet, the future had shifted just enough to hurt someone else.
As the realization settled in, a cold thought took shape in his mind.
Changing fate didn't erase pain.
It only decided who would carry it.