The rooftop wind howled just like last night.
Ethan waited, heart hammering harder with each second.
He'd come too early. Anxiety gnawed at him. He gripped the chain-link fence, knuckles white, staring at the horizon.
"Meet me in the morning."
The words burned in his skull. He'd run through every possibility: What if this was all a fluke?What if no one came? What if he'd misread the damn note?
Then—the rooftop door creaked open.
The sound hit like a live wire.
Ethan spun around.
There she was.
She stepped through the doorway, calm as dawn. Her straight hair swaying in the breeze. Face serene, like she'd known he'd be here.
Their eyes locked. Ethan felt time crack open.
She looked exactly as he remembered.
Part of him wanted to sprint to her, scream questions, demand answers. But before he could move—she smiled.
And then—
Everything shattered.
He jerked awake.
Gasping. Sheets tangled. Heart slamming ribs.
His room. His bed.
Not the rooftop. Not her.
Not the school.
Morning light leaked through the blinds. His heart still jackhammering. The rooftop wind felt so real, he almost wondered if he'd really woken up.
He dragged a hand down his face.
Just a dream.
Then—his phone buzzed.
Ethan grabbed it, numb.
Two texts:
Daniel:Hey, why you up so early?
Andrés:Don't forget we're hanging later. No flaking this time.
His body locked up.
Those names.
The same two kids from his "dream." The ones who'd talked to him at the lockers.
The phone nearly slipped from his grip. They weren't his friends. He knew them—vaguely—but never spoke to them. Now? Years of texts clogged his screen. Inside jokes. Plans. Like they'd always been tight.
He stumbled out of bed. Cold sweat down his spine.
Rifled through his desk. Backpack. Wallet. Clothes. More changes.
Dug into a box of old crap.
And there—
Two crumpled notes. His handwriting.
"Meet me on the roof."
"Meet me in the morning."
His breathing turned ragged.
The same messages from the dream.
But here they were. In his reality.
Everything had changed.
A chill crawled under Ethan's skin. He forced himself to breathe, but his mind raced. Clutching the notes like they'd vanish any second. No way this was a coincidence.
If it'd all been a dream, these notes shouldn't exist. But here they were—yellowed, crumpled, like they'd been tucked away for years.
He stood slowly, cold floor biting his feet. Stumbled to his closet. Yanked drawers open. Rifled through childhood junk. Hunting for proof this life wasn't his.
His eyes snagged on an old backpack.
His middle school backpack.
Dust coated the fabric, like it hadn't been touched in years. He unzipped it. Stomach dropped.
Inside—a uniform.
Not his old school's.
The one from the dream.
He pulled it out, fingers digging into the fabric. Real. Undeniably real.
His breath hitched. Hand slapped to his forehead.
"No. No way. This can't be real."
Checked his phone again. Still there—Daniel and Andrés' texts. Years of inside jokes he didn't remember. Memories that weren't his.
His mind and reality didn't match.
He forced himself to sit. To think.
Fact one: In the dream, he'd transferred schools.
Fact two: Now, in reality, he had too.
Fact three: But his memories of his old school stayed sharp.
Like his life had split into two roads—one paved, one overgrown—and his brain clung to both.
He dragged his hands down his face. What the hell is happening?
"This isn't just a dream."
Dreams don't rewrite reality. Dreams don't slap fake memories into your skull.
He stood at the window. Outside—same streets, same houses, same damn city. But underneath? Rotting. Warped.
And the worst part? He didn't know how deep it went.
If one dream hacked this much of his life… what happens if he keeps sleeping?
Fists clenched. Only one way to find out.
He needed to dream again.
But first—what else changed?
Hands shaking, he grabbed his phone. Scrolled contacts. Searched her name.
Gone.
Opened Instagram. Her profile popped up. Still following each other. But their photos? Just… poof. No couple selfies. No trip to the beach. No midnight texts.
Like they'd never happened.
A hollow punched through his chest.
No. No way.
He clawed through memories—their first kiss, that fight in the rain, her laugh. All just… static now.
Breathed in. Out. "Coincidence. Maybe just her."
But his gut screamed liar.
He needed to test it. Someone else.
He scrolled to his friends' chats. Still there. Still close. Messages clogged with memes, plans, inside jokes.
But something off.
Dug into their oldest texts. They hadn't met at school here. New meet-cutes: random parties, mutual friends, basketball practice.
Same friends. Different history.
The vertigo hit like a truck.
"Not just the school. My whole damn life."
He death-gripped the phone. Fear slithered up his throat.
If more dreams meant rewriting his past… what happened to the people he loved?
What if he woke up tomorrow and they were strangers?
His eyes flicked to the notes on his bed.
"Meet me on the roof."
"Meet me in the morning."
Breath shallow.
If this was just the start… what hell waited next time he slept?