The realization hit me like a physical blow. I had been back for a month, living with my mother, but I had arrived in this timeline four months after the start. I was in K-City, but I had missed the beginning.
I sifted through the fog of my memory. Those first few months—the "good" months—were gone. Why? I had wanted to relive those moments of peace, yet here I was, dropped into the middle of the storm.
Suddenly, the door swung open. My heart leaped.
Jennie.
She walked in without a glance in my direction. My chest ached with a sudden, sharp longing.
"I missed you."
Why am I not looking at her?
As I watched her, a memory "folded" in my mind, clicking into place. This was the week we had stopped speaking. For seven days, we had existed in a cold, suffocating silence. Even now, looking back, I couldn't remember the petty reason why.
"That means four months have already passed," I whispered to myself, though no sound left my lips. "Why now? Why did I miss the best parts?"
My internal spirit wanted to scream, to rush across the room and throw my arms around her. I wanted to tell her I was sorry for being so difficult, for being so cold. But my physical body—the past version of me—was a solid, immovable weight. It remained frozen, eyes glued to a phone screen, radiating a stubborn wall of silence.
It was the first time I truly felt a sense of hatred for myself.
I watched her, my "present" consciousness observing her with a clarity I never had back then.
Jennie was the same height as me, with pale skin and a healthy, vibrant energy that always seemed to fill a room. Her eyes were her most unique feature, framed by short, tight curls that always reminded me of spaghetti—though I'd never dared tell her that.
She was my polar opposite. While I tended toward shadows, she was a burst of color. Every stitch of her clothing was bright, a defiant contrast to my own muted world.
She didn't look at me. Not once.
Time began to stretch and blur, as it does when you are trapped in a loop of regret. My past self remained on the sofa in the hall, a ghost haunted by a smartphone. Jennie eventually turned and retreated into the bedroom, falling asleep in a room that felt miles away despite being just through the door.