Harvey Miller had never thought of himself as unlucky.
He wasn't especially lucky either. His life sat somewhere in the middle, balanced enough that he never had a reason to complain too loudly. He had a job, a place to live, and enough money left at the end of the month to feel calm most days.
Still, there was always a quiet doubt following him.
Like he was moving forward without knowing whether he was walking in the right direction.
That morning, the doubt came in the form of an email.
It was simple and short. David Collins, his manager, asked if Harvey was interested in joining an additional project. Extra responsibility. Extra hours. The kind of opportunity that could help during performance reviews if things went well.
Harvey read it once, then read it again.
He didn't reply.
He told himself he would think about it after lunch. Or after finishing his current task. Or after the uneasy feeling in his chest faded. He had always handled choices this way, letting time soften them before he touched them.
By lunchtime, the email was still open.
The office around him stayed unchanged. The sound of keyboards, muted conversations, and the steady hum of the air conditioner filled the space. Harvey liked that kind of environment. Predictable. Quiet. Safe.
Jake Wilson leaned back in his chair across the aisle. "You see the email about the new project?"
Harvey nodded. "Yeah."
"I'm probably going to take it," Jake said casually. "Might be good for the next review."
"Maybe," Harvey replied.
Jake smiled and turned back to his screen quickly, as if the decision had already been made and there was nothing left to discuss.
Emily Carter walked past not long after, holding a cup of coffee. She slowed when she reached Harvey's desk.
"You're still thinking about it," she said.
"Just weighing it," Harvey replied.
Emily smiled faintly. "You always do."
She didn't wait for a response and continued walking. Emily never pushed him. Sometimes that made her easy to be around. Sometimes it made the silence heavier.
The rest of the day passed without anything memorable. Harvey finished his work, checked the email again, then closed it. He decided tomorrow would be fine. There was no rush.
When he left the building, the sky was already dark. Streetlights reflected off the pavement, and cars passed by without slowing. Harvey walked toward the parking lot, thinking about ordinary things. Dinner. Laundry. Whether he should call his parents over the weekend.
He stepped toward the crosswalk near the lot entrance.
A horn sounded behind him.
It was loud. Too close.
Harvey turned instinctively. Headlights rushed into his vision from the wrong angle. The car wasn't fully out of control, just late enough to be dangerous.
There was an impact.
Not a dramatic crash. Just a hard hit that knocked him off balance. His shoulder slammed into something, and his head snapped sideways.
Sound vanished.
For a moment, everything felt wrong. His ears rang sharply. The world looked too bright, then too distant. He tried to breathe and felt like his chest forgot how.
A single thought crossed his mind.
Is this it?
Then another followed.
No. I'm still here.
He could feel the cold ground beneath him. His heart was racing, uneven but real. Voices reached him from far away. Someone shouting. Someone running.
Harvey tried to move his hand.
Nothing happened.
He tried again. Still nothing.
That was when he noticed the words.
They weren't on a phone or a screen. They didn't glow or flicker. They were simply there, clear and unmoving, sitting inside his vision like they had always belonged.
[Decision recorded
Time ahead: 4 years
Work: unchanged
Money: enough
Personal life: less
Mental state: heavy
Result recorded]
Harvey stared at the first line.
Decision recorded.
What decision?
He hadn't decided anything. Not the project. Not his future. Not even what to eat for dinner. He tried to look away, but the words didn't disappear.
Time ahead: 4 years.
Something tightened in his stomach.
Work unchanged. Money enough. Personal life less. Mental state heavy.
The last two lines unsettled him the most. They didn't feel like a warning. They felt like a conclusion.
He wanted to blame shock. A concussion. His mind trying to cope with pain.
But the words were too clear. Too calm.
Harvey lay there as the voices around him grew closer. He didn't answer them. He couldn't.
For a brief moment, everything inside him went silent. No planning. No hesitation. No weighing possibilities.
Just stillness.
And those words sitting within it, like an ending written before he was ready.