Chapter 1: The Birthday Gift I Wasn't Ready For
January 22, 2025.
I stared at the "20" on my phone screen. It didn't feel like a milestone. It just felt like a deadline I'd missed. Everyone talks about your twenties like you're finally starting, but sitting in my room with the curtains closed, it felt like I'd already lost.
Another year of nothing. Another 365 days of "figuring it out" while actually doing nothing but staring at walls.
My phone buzzed on the desk. Mom. "Please come for dinner, Otto. Just for an hour?" I stared at the text until the screen went black. I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay under my blanket until the day officially ended, but I couldn't say no to her. Not when I was already such a letdown.
"Just get through it," I muttered.
The walk to the house was brutal. The wind was biting, and I stood at the front gate for a long time, just watching my breath fog up in the air. I almost texted her a lie about having a headache, but the front door opened before I could.
"Happy Birthday, Otto," Mom said.
She tried to sound happy, but her face dropped the second she saw me. I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror. My skin was sallow, my hair was a mess, and I had those deep circles under my eyes that sleep couldn't fix. I looked like a wreck.
Dad was already at the table. He didn't look up, but I could feel the tension radiating off him.
"Are you sick?" he asked. It wasn't a kind question. It was an accusation.
"No. I'm fine." My voice was scratchy.
He grunted and went back to his food. The dinner was chicken and rice, usually my favorite, but I could barely swallow a bite. The only sound in the room was the scrape of forks and the ticking of the wall clock.
"You've lost weight, Otto," Mom whispered. She looked like she was about to cry. "Please, just eat a little more."
"I'm eating, Mom." I pushed the rice around, feeling my stomach tighten.
Clang. Dad dropped his spoon onto the plate.
"Twenty," he said, finally looking me in the eye. "When I was twenty, I was working ten-hour days. I was building a life. What are you doing, Otto? Just waiting for the world to hand you a prize for existing?"
"I'm... trying to figure things out," I said, my voice shaking.
"Figure what out? You've been 'figuring it out' for two years!" He slammed his hand on the table. "The world is passing you by while you sit in that dark room. Don't you care?"
"Dear, please..." Mom reached for his arm, but then she looked at me with this look of pure pity.
That was it. I could take Dad being a jerk, but I couldn't take her looking at me like I was a broken toy. I looked down at my plate, hating myself, hating the room, hating everything. He was right. I was a failure.
"I'm not hungry," I said, shoving my chair back. The legs screeched against the floor. "I'm going back."
"Otto, wait! There's cake—"
"I don't want any, Mom. I've had enough."
I walked out the door before I could see her face.
The walk back felt longer. My mind kept looping back to when I was ten. I used to talk about making games, about building things. I was so full of myself back then. Now, I couldn't even finish a meal with my parents without making everyone miserable.
"What's the point?" I asked. I looked up at the sky. It was just dark and blurry. No stars, nothing.
I stepped into the street, my mind a thousand miles away.
Then, there was a roar. A pair of headlights came out of nowhere, blinding me.
THUD.
I didn't feel pain at first, just a weird, weightless sensation. I hit the ground hard, and the world started to tilt.
Wait. No....
My heart started thumping like crazy. I thought I wanted it to end, but as I lay there on the cold asphalt, I was terrified. I don't want to die. Not like this. I haven't done anything yet. Please, not like this. I tried to breathe. The lights of the streetlamps started to flicker and fade.
I'm sorry... I'm so sorry…
I don't wanna die..I don't wanna die..I don't wann–
Then everything went black.
Mom
The house felt cold after Otto left. I started clearing the table, my hands shaking.
"You shouldn't have yelled," I said, my voice barely a whisper.
My husband sat there, staring at Otto's plate. He looked smaller than he did five minutes ago. "I know," he said, his voice breaking. "I just... I'm so scared for him, Martha. I don't want him to end up with nothing. I don't want him to be as miserable as I was at his age."
I put a hand on his shoulder. "He's still our boy. He just needs time."
I looked at the cake on the counter. The candles were still in their plastic wrap.
"I hope he's okay," I murmured.
I started to cry, and I didn't even know why.
"How long has it been since I cried?" I asked, wiping my eyes with my apron.
Otto
I was floating in nothing. No pain, no sound. Is this it? Is this what happens? I felt a weird tugging, like someone was pulling me by the back of my shirt.
...Warm.
Suddenly, I smelled something. It was like clean laundry and baby powder. I opened my eyes, but everything was a blur of bright lights and shapes. I tried to speak, but all that came out was a high-pitched, frustrated scream.
A face moved into view. A woman. She looked incredibly young—like a photo I'd seen in an old album. Her eyes were wide and happy.
Mom?
I tried to move, but my arms wouldn't work. She picked me up, and I could hear her heart beating. It was loud. Everything was huge.
My brain was spinning. I wasn't dead. I was... small?
The realization hit me like a brick. I was back. Not just home, but back.My 20th birthday... and I got a reset.
I tried to keep my eyes open, to figure out what year it was, but I was so exhausted. My brain felt like it was shutting down. I fell asleep.....