I woke up with a slight headache. That was the first thing that felt wrong.
The ceiling above me wasn't familiar, but my body accepted it without resistance. Morning light spilled in from the side, thin and pale, like the city was easing itself awake. For a brief moment, I was confused. Didn't I just die?
Then the headache became stronger as flashes of memories came into my mind. This was not the world I remembered, but a TV show world called Friends. And ironically, I had become a character who had not appeared much in the show, yet had left a deep impression on me.
Right.
Barry Farber.
This was my name in my past life. Same name as before. Different life. That alone made me laugh softly under my breath.
A second chance that didn't even bother changing the label.
I swung my legs off the bed and stood. The room was tidy in a way that suggested intention, not personality. Temporary furniture. Neutral colors. A place designed to be left behind soon.
On the chair near the window, a wedding suit hung neatly, untouched.
Ah. Right.
Rachel.
She had run—not from me, exactly. From a version of life she hadn't chosen yet. And she had left the previous Barry at the altar, which caused him to drink heavily and gave me the chance to be reborn into him.
I walked closer to the suit, examining it the way you'd look at an item you no longer needed but hadn't thrown away yet.
I didn't feel resentment about being left at the altar. Apparently, after Rachel left, our parents were already in a heated discussion about how much money had been spent and who was going to pay for all of it.
I felt distance. Emotionally and temporally. Like I was already standing a few steps ahead of the moment everyone else was still stuck in.
I knew Rachel Green's future.
More importantly, I knew Ross Geller's past.
How tragic his life had been initially.
Many people questioned his behavior in my previous life after watching the show—how he would cling to Rachel when a new guy, Mark, entered their lives.
Ross wasn't reckless. He was wounded. Betrayed in a way that doesn't heal neatly. When certainty breaks once, you grab harder the next time it appears. Barry Farber—this Barry—had no interest in stepping into that gravity well.
I wasn't here to compete.
I wasn't here to reclaim.
I was here to live.
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet for a city like New York. I dressed casually, my movements unhurried, letting the rhythm of the place settle into me.
Whoever Barry Farber had been before yesterday, that person no longer existed. I was starting a new life today—one aimed toward a better future.
Outside, the city greeted me like it always does—indifferent, alive, generous with opportunity. I walked without a destination, letting instinct guide me toward coffee, toward people, toward motion.
I was surprised when Central Perk came into view.
I paused outside, watching through the window. Familiar faces occupied familiar seats. Laughter drifted out when the door opened. The world I knew from memory was unfolding before my eyes.
I didn't feel drawn in.
I also didn't feel the need to turn away.
Inside, the smell of coffee wrapped around me. The group registered my presence without significance—just another man in New York, grabbing a drink, existing. That was perfect.
Rachel wasn't there.
Ross was.
Our eyes met briefly. Recognition flickered, followed by something cautious. Or uncertainty. He nodded. Polite. Awkward.
I nodded back.
No tension. No statement. Just acknowledgment.
That was enough.
I ordered my coffee, took it to go, and stepped back out into the street. The city absorbed me immediately, like it always does when you don't insist on being noticed.
As I turned the corner, I nearly collided with someone stepping out of the building across the street.
"Sorry," she said automatically.
"No problem," I replied, already moving aside.
She paused, studying me for half a second longer than necessary—not curiosity, just assessment. Sharp eyes. Composed posture.
Behind her, Monica Geller's voice floated out from the doorway, mid-sentence.
They knew each other.
Interesting.
The woman smiled briefly at Monica, then glanced back at me once more before heading down the street. No spark. No moment.
Just a quiet registration that felt… unfinished.
I watched her go, then continued on my way.
Back in the apartment later, the phone buzzed on the counter. I ignored it. Whoever was calling could wait. I had time now. More than I'd ever had before.
I looked out at the city again, coffee cooling in my hand.
Somewhere nearby, old stories were restarting.
And for the first time, mine wasn't tied to them.
Not yet.