Elias hadn't been sleeping well lately. Even when his eyes were closed, his mind refused to rest. The memories—no, dreams—kept returning. Each one a little more vivid than the last. Each one unraveling pieces of a puzzle he wasn't sure he wanted to solve.
The days since he confided in Maya and Noah had been strangely quiet. Too quiet. Though they hadn't outright dismissed him, he could tell they were unsure—treading carefully, observing more than responding.
"Are you okay?" Maya asked over coffee one morning at the office. Her tone was light, casual, but her eyes were watchful.
Elias offered a weak smile. "Just tired. I've been writing too much."
"Or dreaming too much," she said before sipping her drink, trying to play it off as a joke. But it landed harder than she probably intended.
He chuckled but said nothing.
---
Back at home, Elias stared at the corkboard he had pinned above his desk. Notes, scribbles, and a few old photographs were scattered across it. He was trying to connect dots—find any logic behind the dreams. There were entries in his journal now. Strange symbols he didn't remember writing. Phrases in his handwriting but with meanings he couldn't recall.
Entry 7: "It's always raining before something changes."
That one had been haunting him. He had checked the weather reports. It had rained the night before each strange dream. Coincidence? Maybe. But if the dreams were memories from alternate timelines—or fragments from something that had happened—then nothing felt like just coincidence anymore.
---
He met Noah later that evening at a run-down tea stall they both used to frequent in college.
"I read a bit about neural recall," Noah said, stirring his cup. "It's possible your brain's just processing unaddressed memories… or hidden trauma."
"That's the thing. I've checked. I've even spoken to a therapist before. My past isn't... I mean, it's not broken. Just ordinary."
Noah gave him a look. "Maybe it's not your past that's breaking. Maybe it's your present."
That hit harder than Elias expected.
---
A few days later, something happened that shook him again.
Elias stepped out of the office late at night. The streets were dimly lit and nearly empty. As he passed a quiet alley, he heard someone whisper his name.
He turned. No one was there.
He kept walking, faster now. But the voice returned. This time it said, "Don't forget the fire."
He froze.
It wasn't just the voice. It was the same voice from his dreams. Hoarse. Urgent. Familiar.
He rushed home that night, locked the door, and pulled out his journal. He flipped through the entries. On the last page, freshly written:
"You forgot the fire once. Don't let it happen again."
He hadn't written that.
Or maybe he had. In another version of himself.
---
At work the next day, Maya noticed how distracted he was.
"You're not sleeping again," she said.
"No."
"Elias, this isn't healthy."
"I know."
She paused, looked around, then leaned in. "You said you were seeing fragments of another version of yourself, right?"
He nodded slowly.
"What if someone... something... is trying to remind you of something you forgot? Or stopped yourself from remembering?"
Elias blinked. That idea hadn't crossed his mind before. What if the dreams weren't about what could happen, but about what should have?
And maybe... something had changed that timeline. Someone. Him?
---
That night, he had another dream.
He stood inside a burning building. The heat was unbearable. The flames danced along the walls like angry spirits. And then he saw it—someone trapped behind the fire, screaming for help.
He tried to move. Tried to reach them. But his feet wouldn't move.
The figure's face was unclear... but the voice?
It was Maya's.
---
He jolted awake, gasping for breath.
Sweat drenched his clothes. The smell of smoke lingered in his nose even though there was no fire.
He looked at the time: 3:33 AM.
The same time he'd been waking up lately.
He rushed to his journal and added a new entry.
Entry 10: "The fire is real. It hasn't happened yet... but it will."
And in the corner of the page, his hand shook as he wrote:
"Tell her. Before it's too late."
---