I never asked for this. Time, or fate, or whatever you want to call it, didn't consult me before dragging me into this mess. It's just one of those things, isn't it? You're going about your life, minding your own business, and then — bam — a moment happens. A shift. A feeling. And before you know it, your world is flipped upside down, and you can't make sense of anything anymore.
I was doing what I always did on a lazy Tuesday afternoon: shelving books in the dusty corner of a secondhand bookstore. The musty scent of old pages filled the air. The soft hum of the city was muffled by the thick glass of the windows. It was all so mundane, so normal, that I never imagined it could ever change.
Then it did.
It started with the silence. At first, I thought I had imagined it. I didn't hear the usual sounds of people on the street, the chime of a passing car. But when I looked up from my task, everything seemed… wrong. The air was thick with something unexplainable. And then, there he was.
A man. Standing in front of the old mirror across the room. His eyes locked onto mine, and it felt like the world held its breath. I couldn't move. His gaze was sharp, almost as if he was staring right through me.
I knew something was off, but I couldn't figure out what.
He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there, watching me. I reached out before I even realized it. My hand trembling as I touched the cold surface of the mirror. The second my fingers brushed against it, the world shifted — like a crack through reality — and everything around me blurred.
I wasn't in the bookstore anymore.
The air was different. The streets — darker. The people around me wore clothes I couldn't place, like they'd just stepped out of a different era. The city felt ancient, timeless. The cobblestone streets beneath my feet felt real, like they belonged in another time altogether.
And then, that voice. Deep, steady.
"Are you alright?"
I spun around, breath caught in my chest. The man from the mirror was standing in front of me now, his face inches from mine. He had the same eyes, the same intensity. But this time, he wasn't just a reflection.
"I'm… I'm fine," I muttered, trying to shake the shock from my voice. But the words felt hollow. How could I be fine? I had just traveled — no, fallen — into another time.
"You're not from here." His voice was firm, matter-of-fact. It sent a chill down my spine.
I swallowed hard, trying to make sense of what was happening. "What do you mean?"
"Your clothes. Your eyes. The way you look at everything. It's clear you don't belong," he said, his gaze unwavering.
I stared at him, confused, and suddenly overwhelmed by the gravity of his words. Was this some sort of joke? A prank? It didn't make sense.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized… this wasn't normal. I was standing on a street I didn't recognize, dressed in clothes that didn't fit with the time around me. I wasn't dreaming. This wasn't a trick. Somehow, I had slipped through time. But how?
"I'm Ana," I said, forcing the words out despite the fear clawing at my throat. "And… and I don't know how I got here."
His lips barely twitched as he looked me up and down. "This is my world. My time." He paused, his eyes searching mine. "You shouldn't be here."
I wanted to ask why. Why couldn't I be here? Why me? But before I could speak, the ground beneath us rumbled. The air shifted again, as though the very fabric of time was pulling at me. I reached out to steady myself, but Eduardo — he had introduced himself as Eduardo — grabbed my arm.
But the world, once again, dissolved.
I woke up with a start, my heart racing. The bookstore. The dusty shelves. The smell of old paper. Everything was exactly the same as it had been before. But I knew it wasn't.
I had been somewhere else. Somewhen else.
And that man — Eduardo — wasn't a dream.
I blinked rapidly, my pulse still racing. I was back in the bookstore, as if nothing had happened. The hum of the world outside, the faint rustle of pages turning, the quiet shuffle of footsteps — it was all the same.
But it wasn't the same. I knew something had shifted. I could feel it in my bones. The heaviness of what I'd just experienced — whatever that was — hung in the air like an invisible weight, pulling at the edges of my mind.
I stumbled backward, bumping into one of the shelves, the soft clang of the books against wood breaking the eerie silence.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but it wasn't enough. My hands were shaking. How had I ended up back here? The city, the people, the strange sense of time slipping away… it had all felt real. And then, just like that, I was back in this world, this place, as if nothing had happened.
Had I imagined it?
The question flickered in my mind, but I couldn't answer it. It wasn't possible. The feeling had been too real, too solid. I reached up and rubbed my temples, trying to make sense of it. Was I losing my mind? Or had I truly… traveled through time?
And then, like an afterthought, his voice echoed in my head. You shouldn't be here.
Eduardo. His name sent a jolt through me. His eyes. That look of knowing, of understanding something I didn't. His presence had felt so absolute, so certain, and now, in the quiet comfort of the bookstore, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was somewhere close, waiting.
I glanced at the clock on the wall, trying to anchor myself in reality. It was 3:15 PM. I'd been shelving books for hours. Yet, everything felt different, like the hours had slipped away without me even realizing it.
I reached for my phone, hoping that a glimpse of something familiar — something solid — would pull me out of this strange daze. But when I unlocked the screen, I froze. The date on my phone read May 17, 1923.
My breath hitched in my chest, and I felt my legs go weak beneath me. I double-checked, swiping the screen to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. But no — 1923. How? It wasn't possible.
I wasn't just seeing things. The calendar on my phone had changed.
The quiet buzz of the store seemed to grow louder, more oppressive. I had to get out of here. I couldn't think clearly in this place anymore. I couldn't —
"Ana?"
I spun around, my heart stopping in my chest.
There he was. Standing in the doorway of the bookstore, his eyes meeting mine once more. Eduardo.
For a split second, it felt like I was caught in a dream. A dream where nothing made sense, but everything felt real, more real than anything I'd known.
His gaze flickered over me, then softened. "I was worried you'd… disappear again," he said, his voice low but steady.
I opened my mouth, trying to speak, but no words came out. I didn't know what to say to him. How could I? How could I explain to him that I didn't belong in this time — this world — but neither did he?
"You've been gone a long time." His expression was unreadable, a mix of concern and something else I couldn't quite place. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. You weren't meant to stay here."
I swallowed hard. "I… I don't understand. I don't belong here. This is all wrong." My words were rushed, desperate, as if saying them out loud would make some kind of sense out of the chaos swirling around me.
"You don't belong here," he echoed softly, taking a step forward. "But you don't belong there either, do you?"
The way he said it sent a shiver down my spine. It was like he knew something about me — something about this — that I didn't understand yet. He knew I had traveled. Knew I wasn't meant to be here. But how?
I looked down at my phone again, the date still glaring back at me. 1923. My stomach churned.
"What do you want from me?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Eduardo's gaze softened, but it wasn't pity. It was something more complicated, like he knew the truth, but wasn't sure if I was ready for it. "I want to help you. But you're going to have to trust me."
Trust him. Trust him? In this world that felt like it was falling apart around me? In the whirlwind of confusion, I couldn't even trust myself.
But his eyes — they weren't filled with the uncertainty that I felt. They were steady, calm. Like he had all the answers, and I was just the one who needed to catch up.
"I'll help you," he continued. "But you need to understand something. This isn't just about you. This isn't just about where you are, or when you are. There's more to it. Much more. And if you don't start understanding that now… it could cost you everything."
I swallowed, my mind racing. I didn't know if I could trust him. But the way he spoke — the way he looked at me — I couldn't shake the feeling that he was the only one who could explain what had just happened. What was still happening.
And somewhere deep down, I knew that if I wanted answers, I had no choice but to follow him.
"Okay," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "I'll trust you."
Eduardo nodded slowly. "Good. Because we don't have much time.