I didn't sleep much that night.
Which is to say: I gazed at the ceiling until 2:47 AM, tried to meditate (which turned into internally yelling), and then settled on playing "guess what that shadow is" with my room decor.
Spoiler: it was always the laundry chair.
But the SUV was still there.
All night.
Like some kind of neurotic suburban vampire, it sat under the flickering streetlamp, buzzing ominously and dripping mistrust like a cheap noir picture. Tinted windows. No movement. Not even a door crack. If I didn't know better, I'd believe it was just an abandoned automobile.
Except I did know better.
Because yesterday, my locker had glowed, my notepad had written to me by itself, and someone (something?) had practically sent me a cosmic Post-it Note saying the timeline was bleeding.
So no, I wasn't simply being paranoid. I was being MCU-level paranoid. There's a difference.
By morning, the SUV was gone.
I should've been relieved. Instead, I felt like the final girl in a horror movie who thinks the monster's gone but is about to get pulled beneath the bed.
I packed my luggage in hyper-paranoid mode, cramming in my stolen stopwatch (certainly not normal), my half-written journal (perhaps cursed), and a bag of emergency cookies (Zoe-proofed with a sticky note that stated "Broccoli Inside").
At breakfast, Mom was halfway through an espresso IV drip, Dad was editing seagull shots like they were Pulitzer-worthy, and Zoe was rehearsing her villain monologue voice for a theatrical audition. Honestly, I scarcely noticed. My thoughts was still hooked on lighted locker, weird SUV, and talking notebook.
By the time I got to school, I was humming with anxiety and caffeine. Mostly caffeine.
Rohan met me at the gates, already chomping on a Pop-Tart like a squirrel with a sugar addiction.
"You look like a haunted raccoon," he said by way of welcome.
"Good morning to you too," I mumbled.
He narrowed his eyes. "Did you sleep?"
"No."
"Are you being haunted?"
"Maybe."
"By ghosts or grades?"
"Not sure yet."
He gave me a glance, but didn't press. Bless his sugar-fueled heart.
That day was odd from the get-go.
First period: Mrs. Lefkowitz kept gazing at me like I was a radioactive toaster. She even "accidentally" dropped her pen and went down to peek under my desk. For what? A time-travel engine? A TARDIS?
Second period: My locker buzzed.
Yes. Buzzed.
Not like a phone vibrating. Like... a force field having a dispute with gravity. I stood in front of it, attempting to act nonchalant, but inside screaming. I swear, I could feel the hum in my teeth.
"Dude, open it," Rohan urged, scrutinizing the locker like it may hold buried treasure or a banned anime DVD.
"Or it could explode."
"Cool."
I shot him a glare. "You're not helping."
I eventually cracked it open—slowly, carefully, as if it were a bomb or, worse, Zoe's diary.
Nothing burst. No glowing this time. Just a slight shimmer as if reality hiccuped inside it for half a second.
And there, laying on top of my textbooks, was a folded note. Plain. Unlabeled. Definitely not mine.
I grabbed it up with two fingers like it could bite me.
Inside, penned in clean, precise handwriting:
They're watching you. Be careful. You're not glitching the timeline—it's glitching around you.
I gazed. Blinked. Checked the hallway.
Nothing but the typical corridor chaos: people yelling, a backpack being weaponized as a bludgeon, and someone microwaving a tuna sandwich behind the janitor's office.
"Okay," I whispered. "I am officially in a conspiracy movie."
"What's that?" Rohan asked.
"Nothing! Definitely not a cryptic warning from an unknown stalker!"
He lifted a brow. "Do I need to call a therapist or an exorcist?"
"Both, probably."
The day should have gone back to normal. I should've ignored the note, buried my head in algebra, and maybe ceased unwittingly pausing the world every time someone dropped a pencil too dramatically.
But then third period happened.
In the middle of gym class, while we were doing laps (read: pretending to run while grumbling), I saw him.
The dude from the SUV.
Sunglasses. Black trench coat. Standing just inside the school gate, talking to someone who looked... odd. Like, reality-warping levels of incorrect.
Tall woman. Pale skin. A scarf that moved when there was no wind. She grinned at something he said, and I swear—for a blink—her eyes glitched. Like a corrupted PNG file.
"ROHAN," I growled mid-jog. "Do you see the Matrix extras at the gate?"
He glanced. "Uh... yeah? Who carries sunglasses to a middle school?"
"People who want to hide their evil laser eyes."
"Okay, you need sleep. Or a priest."
They disappeared two minutes later. Just... gone.
I checked my journal during lunch. Blank. Not even a humorous entry from the mysterious writer. I wrote in a brief update:
April 14th.
Event: Locker buzzing. Found note. Agents (?) spotted. Woman with glitchy eyes.
Threat level: One nuclear-level yikes.
Mood: Unhinged squirrel.
Then, just as I was closing it, the page flickered.
New text shimmered into place—glowing again.
Stop hunting for answers. You won't like them. Just keep moving.
I slammed the journal close so fast it nearly sliced my fingers off.
Later that day, while I was driving home (alone—Rohan stayed behind for robotics club), I noticed it again.
The SUV.
Two blocks behind me. Engine rattling. Always remaining just far enough away to pretend it wasn't tailing me.
So I did the only sensible thing.
I halted time.
And rushed for it.
It felt like stepping through syrup. Air thick. Sounds gone. I dodged around frozen people and birds mid-flap. My heart pounded. I neared the SUV, breath hitching—
And within was nothing.
Literally nothing.
Just an empty emptiness. Like the inside of the car was obliterated. Like reality didn't load that far.
My mouth went dry. This wasn't surveillance.
This was something else.
I stepped back. Time restarted. The SUV was gone.
Just—gone. Like it had never existed.
That night, I wrote in the journal with shaky hands.
April 14th (continued).
The SUV isn't real.
I don't think any of this is.
Someone—or something—is observing through fissures in reality.
My power isn't the bug. I guess I'm the only thing that isn't.
And then, like clockwork, another message flickered into view:
Next time, don't stop time so near. They're starting to notice you too.
I closed the book. Locked it. Shoved it in a box under my bed.
The timeline was bleeding. But worse? It was watching back.
Tomorrow, I had to go to school again.
And maybe open that locker one more time.
Just... in case.
Because something was coming.
And I wasn't ready.