Nate clutched his seatbelt as the car pulled up to the driveway of their house, a modest two-story brick home in Richmond. His dad, Dr. Taylor, parked the car neatly beside the garden hedge, and Nate stared out at the familiar front yard with its well-manicured lawn, small rose bushes, and the old, sturdy oak tree in the corner.
It was strange. The house felt familiar, but not in the way you feel when you come home after a long day. It was like seeing a snapshot of someone else's memories… but knowing, somehow, that they belonged to you.
His mum turned around from the front passenger seat, smiling warmly. "Alright, champ. Home sweet home." She patted his knee lightly before stepping out of the car.
Nate unbuckled his seatbelt, moving slower than he usually would. He felt as if each movement required deliberate effort, as though every step brought him closer to something he wasn't ready to face yet. He followed his parents up the front steps and into the house, his eyes scanning over the little details he hadn't thought about in either life. The chipped doorknob, the faint scent of lavender from the air freshener, the family photos lining the hallway—images of Nate at various ages, always smiling, always carefree.
And yet, to him, these moments were ghosts.
Inside, his mum disappeared into the kitchen, humming as she went about making tea, while his dad hung up his coat and stethoscope—two items that Nate knew, through fragmented memories, were a permanent fixture in this household. His dad was well-respected, a general practitioner who worked at the local clinic. His mum, on the other hand, was a full-time housewife who handled everything from running the household to managing Nate's school life.
It was comforting—but that was part of the problem.
The comfort felt foreign.
Nate's hand brushed against the wooden banister as he started up the stairs toward his room. The grooves in the wood sent flashes of memory through his mind—scenes of a younger Nate sliding down the railing, getting scolded by his mum for nearly breaking his arm.
It felt real. It was real. But… not his.
As he passed by the small bookshelf in the hallway, his eyes landed on something that jolted him—a small, worn soccer ball sitting on top of the shelf. It was old and slightly deflated, but he knew it had sentimental value. His dad had given it to him after one of his clinic's charity events years ago, a small token from his childhood. For a second, Harry's memories tried to press through—memories of a life where soccer was just something kids played while he worked backstage. But then Nate's own feelings tugged at him, reminding him of days spent playing football with his dad in the backyard.
He stumbled slightly, catching himself on the wall as the wave of memories hit harder this time. They were conflicting—overlaying each other in his mind.
"Am I Nate or Harry?" he whispered to himself, gripping the banister tightly.
But before he could spiral further, his dad called up the stairs, breaking the moment.
"Dinner in half an hour, sport! And keep your door open, alright?"
Nate blinked, slightly disoriented but nodding automatically. "Yeah… okay."
He walked into his room and, just as instructed, left the door open behind him. Closing doors was something his parents didn't allow until he was older. A rule that felt arbitrary before… but now, with his newfound maturity, it felt suffocating.
Nate sat on his bed, scanning the room. It was filled with things he should've recognized instantly—posters of dragons, stacks of schoolbooks, a half-finished Lego set on his desk—but everything felt off. Like living in a stranger's body.
His hands traced over his pillow absentmindedly, the fabric soft and familiar under his fingertips. But it only brought back flashes of his old life—his small, cramped apartment back in 2025. There was no softness there. No home-cooked meals waiting on the table. No open doors.
No parents.
The thought sent a hollow ache through him. His old parents were already a distant blur, barely discernible in his fragmented memory. But that absence only made his interactions with his new parents even more awkward. These people were kind, loving… but they weren't his.
Downstairs, dinner was being set, the clinking of plates and silverware echoing softly through the quiet house. Nate took a deep breath, steeling himself before heading down the stairs.
When he sat at the table, he noticed his parents exchanging glances. His mum placed a plate of roast chicken in front of him, offering a smile, though there was a flicker of worry in her eyes.
"Feeling better?" she asked, her voice gentle.
Nate nodded. "Yeah. A bit."
His dad, sitting across from him, was already in doctor mode, his analytical gaze fixed on Nate. "You've been a bit quiet today, son. Not like yourself."
Nate shifted uncomfortably, poking at the food with his fork. "Just… tired, I guess."
His mum looked at his dad as though seeking reassurance. "It's probably the concussion, right? That's normal?"
Dr. Taylor nodded thoughtfully, though his gaze never left Nate. "Could be. But he's usually back to his old self after a nap, aren't you, Nate?"
Nate forced a small smile. "Yeah. Usually."
He could feel the weight of their concern, but he couldn't explain what was really wrong. How could he? He didn't understand it himself.
As the dinner conversation continued, Nate's dad started talking about his workday at the clinic, explaining how he had a patient with similar symptoms—a mild concussion that left the boy feeling off for a few days. His dad was always calm, rational, someone who broke down complex medical issues into digestible bits of information. It was comforting to listen to, even if Nate wasn't fully engaged. Through snippets of the conversation, he learned more about his dad's work—a well-established doctor who had built a strong reputation in the local community over the years.
Nate's mum chimed in occasionally, asking how various patients were doing or commenting on how busy the clinic had been recently. She didn't work outside the home, but she was very much a part of his dad's world, always helping organize his schedule and making sure he had everything he needed.
It was the kind of teamwork Nate admired. But as he sat there, listening to them, he couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider in his own family. Every word, every gesture, every loving glance exchanged between his parents felt like something he should appreciate… but the weight of his other life hung over him like a shadow.
He had died.
And now, he was here, in this strange, familiar world, surrounded by people who loved him but didn't truly know him.
After dinner, he excused himself quietly and retreated back to his room, leaving the door open, just as he had been instructed.
But this time, the open door didn't feel like a rule.
It felt like an invitation he couldn't bring himself to accept.