Mira jolted awake, heart pounding in her chest as if she'd been running. In the dim half-light of early morning, her bedroom glowed with a soft, amber haze. Rain tapped steadily at the window, the scent of lilies from last night's bouquet lingering in the air—familiar and comforting, but somehow… wrong. Not dangerous, not overtly unsettling, but uncanny, as if the world itself was caught on a loop, playing the same note over and over until it lost all meaning.
She reached for her phone, fingers trembling slightly. 7:14 a.m. The numbers glowed, precise and silent. That time—something inside her twisted, as if she'd already lived this moment a hundred times. The sensation of déjà vu was thick and suffocating, as if she were being folded into her own memories.
In the kitchen, the routine continued. Liam was already up, pouring coffee, his movements measured and practiced. The air was full of the sharp, bitter scent. He turned, his smile gentle—the very smile that had reeled her in four months earlier, all warmth and promise. There was tenderness in the way he touched her arm, but it felt rehearsed, a line in a script she'd memorized.
"You okay?" His voice was soft, concerned, but the concern felt hollow, almost mechanical.
"Yes," she replied, the answer tumbling out before she could stop it. She watched the steam curling lazily from his mug, watched the way he looked at her, and felt a shiver run down her spine. She'd been here before. Not just in this kitchen or this conversation, but in this exact moment, every heartbeat and word echoing from some ghostly past. The sense of repetition was overwhelming, as if her life had become a scratched record stuck on the same refrain.
The day unfolded with small, precise details—each one ringing with the uncanny familiarity of a dream she couldn't quite remember. Later, walking to the metro, the feeling intensified. The streetlights flickered in the rain, a dog barked somewhere behind her, a woman hurried past, snapping open a crimson umbrella that splattered droplets against Mira's coat. Every sound, every movement struck her as both present and remembered, as if she were an actor reading lines she hadn't written.
And through it all, a phrase pulsed in her mind, insistent and strange:
You have seen this day before.
By the time they reached the station, she was dizzy from the looping sense of prophecy. Liam reached for her hand, his thumb grazing the delicate skin at her wrist. The touch, so familiar, suddenly cracked the world open. Everything around her splintered.
For the briefest instant, she glimpsed another version of reality—Liam's face, not soft and loving, but cold, eyes flat and unrecognizable. She saw herself weeping, a ring glinting on her finger, blood smeared across a surface—she couldn't tell whose. She heard his voice, low and urgent: You'll stay, won't you? And saw herself, nodding, terrified and small.
She blinked hard, and the vision vanished. Liam was back, warm and solicitous, brow furrowed in concern. But something inside her had changed. It was as if she'd awakened a part of herself that could see through the fabric of her life, catching glimpses of threads that had always been there but never noticed.
That evening, she let herself move on autopilot, letting the loops guide her. Each déjà vu was a warning, a nudge that sharpened her awareness. She began to see the tiny cracks in Liam's affection—the possessive questions, the subtle pressure to rearrange her life for his convenience, the way his kindness sometimes twisted into guilt or control. The loops had become her secret map, and she started to follow their clues, reading between the lines of his words, listening for the gentle lies.
One night, as rain lashed the city, the loop's warning pressed in with suffocating intensity—Don't go to his apartment. She didn't know why, but the urgency was enough. Instead, she ducked into a small café, the air warm and fragrant with coffee and pastries, her heart thudding in her chest. She stared out at the blurred city lights, her mind racing with fractured memories and future echoes.
Her phone buzzed, shattering the fragile calm.
Liam: Where are you? You're supposed to be here.
The word supposed landed heavy, as if it carried all the weight of obligation and unseen consequence. Suddenly, she saw flashes—memories that weren't quite hers, but could have been. Liam's hand gripping her wrist just a bit too tightly, his eyes scanning her messages when he thought she wasn't looking, his insistence that she needed no one but him. She saw herself growing smaller, quieter, isolated under the guise of protection.
Another buzz.
Liam: You're worrying me. Tell me where you are.
But now she saw the truth behind his words. The fear wasn't for her safety, but for his own loss of control. The loops had been breadcrumbs left by her future self, warnings sent back through time—echoes of the life she'd narrowly avoided.
Her hands shook as she typed a reply:
I'm safe. And I'm done.
She sent it before she could change her mind, feeling the message leave her like a breath she'd been holding for months. The world shifted, the déjà vu melting away in an instant, as if a fog had lifted. For the first time in so long, she felt solid, anchored in the present—no longer a ghost drifting through her own life.
She stepped out of the café into the softened rain, the city hushed and gleaming. The air felt different, alive with possibility. Every sound, every movement was new and unscripted. She could breathe.
A man passing by accidentally bumped her shoulder. He stopped, apologetic, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. There was nothing extraordinary about him—no sense of danger, no echo of a loop. Just a real, human moment.
"Sorry," he said, laughter in his voice. "Didn't see you there."
"That's okay," Mira replied, and for the first time in what felt like forever, her smile came easily, unshadowed by fear or memory.
As she walked away, something fluttered in her chest—not anxiety or a warning, but something bright and open. The city lights shimmered, the rain whispering possibilities. She realized she was finally free from the endless repetition, from the weight of futures she'd never wanted.
This was new. Unrehearsed. Truly hers.
A fresh start.
An unwritten day. And this time, she was ready to live it.