The scent of lavender lingered in Koyi's room that morning, faint but soothing, like the remnants of a dream that clung to her skin. She had barely slept. Every blink of her eyes brought back the letter she had received from tomorrow — the slant of the handwriting, the haunting way her name was scrawled like someone had whispered it across the page.
She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest as the morning sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting golden trails on the wooden floor. The words still echoed in her mind:
"Tomorrow, you'll feel like disappearing. Don't. Stay. Please."
A warning? A plea? Or both?
She turned to the old envelope on her nightstand. Still there. Still real.
Koyi hadn't told anyone about the letters. Not her best friend, Nia. Not even her older cousin, Marco, who practically raised her since her parents passed. Some part of her feared that voicing it aloud would break whatever magic or madness had delivered them.
After showering and dressing, she threw on her favorite cropped denim jacket and slid the letter into her notebook before heading out. Today was a school day. Ordinary, on the surface. But everything in her bones whispered that something was about to tilt.
---
The walk to school was brisk, punctuated by the distant hum of buses and the occasional call of street vendors. As Koyi passed a rusted mailbox on 7th Street, her pace slowed. There was something strange about it — the air around it buzzed faintly, like static. The exact same mailbox from her first letter.
She froze.
Something flickered at the edge of her vision — a shadow that vanished before she could focus on it.
"Koyi!"
She spun around.
Nia jogged up to her, breathless. "Girl, why didn't you wait for me?"
"I needed space to think," Koyi replied, eyes still darting toward the mailbox.
"Still about the dreams?" Nia asked, eyeing her. "You've been spacing out lately."
"Yeah… dreams," Koyi lied.
They walked in silence for a few moments before Nia, unable to contain herself, burst out, "Okay, no offense, but you look like you've seen a ghost."
Koyi offered a strained smile. "Something like that."
---
At school, nothing felt normal.
Even the teachers seemed off-beat — like they were reading scripts slightly out of order. In Literature class, Mr. Kale assigned a poem titled The Time Traveler's Dilemma that felt too eerily close to home. Koyi couldn't help but wonder: was she being watched? Guided? Warned?
She glanced across the classroom. That's when she noticed him again.
The boy.
He sat two rows away, near the windows. Tall, angular, with a kind of quiet charisma. His eyes — grey with streaks of silver — seemed to hold the ache of a thousand yesterdays.
She'd never seen him before last week, but something about him always felt… familiar. Like she knew his laughter, the way his fingers fidgeted when he was nervous. Like she had heard him say her name once, in a dream she'd forgotten but never escaped.
He caught her looking and held her gaze — not awkwardly, but as though he expected her to look.
At lunch, Nia noticed. "You're staring at him again."
"Who is he?" Koyi asked.
"No clue. He just… showed up. Rumor is, he's a transfer. No last name listed. Just 'Elian.' Kind of mysterious, huh?"
Elian.
The name buzzed in Koyi's ears like a code.
---
That evening, after dinner, Koyi found herself at the mailbox again. Something inside her told her she needed to be there — like time itself had twisted its fingers and was beckoning her toward something sacred.
The wind rustled, and then…
The slot creaked.
A letter slipped out slowly, as though the mailbox was breathing it into the world.
Koyi snatched it quickly, her hands trembling. The envelope was the same faded cream. The same blue wax seal. The same subtle scent of aged paper.
She opened it on the spot.
> Koyi,
You met him today, didn't you? Elian.
He's the one who will break your heart — but also the one who will help you heal the world.
Don't run from what you feel. Not this time.
The clock is ticking. You'll find the first mark beneath the willow tree where the ravens sleep.
Time needs you.
– T
Her heart pounded. She read it again. First mark? Willow tree? Rav—
The cemetery.
There was an old cemetery two streets over, barely used now, with a lone, massive willow tree leaning protectively over the final resting places of long-forgotten souls. She'd gone there as a child, placing her hands on the bark and whispering wishes to the wind.
And the ravens… they always gathered there at dusk.
Clutching the letter, Koyi ran.
---
The cemetery was quiet, save for the whispering branches and distant flaps of black wings.
She found the tree.
It stood tall and curved, its long limbs like curtains shielding secrets. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the air was painted in shades of twilight.
She knelt at the base of the willow and brushed away leaves, her fingers trembling. For a moment, nothing.
Then… she saw it.
Etched into the wood, just above the roots, was a symbol. A swirling hourglass entwined with a crescent moon. Fresh. Deliberate.
She reached out.
The moment her fingers touched the mark, warmth surged through her veins like liquid light. Images flashed behind her eyes — a burning city, Elian reaching for her hand, a clock tower crumbling, a kiss beneath a red moon.
She gasped and stumbled backward, heart racing.
"Koyi."
Her breath caught in her throat.
She turned.
Elian stood a few feet away, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow on his face. He wasn't surprised to see her there. He looked… sad. And knowing.
"You weren't supposed to find it this soon," he said softly.
She steadied herself. "How do you know about the mark?"
"Because I left it," he replied.
"What?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
Elian walked closer, his expression a storm of regret and affection. "You always find it. Every version of you does. In every timeline. You always come here."
"I don't understand," she murmured.
He exhaled. "You will. But if I tell you too much now, it'll break everything."
"Elian… who are you?"
He hesitated, then reached into his coat and pulled out a folded paper. He handed it to her.
It was another letter.
Not addressed to her — but signed by her.
In her handwriting.
From the future.
---
They sat beneath the willow, the letter between them. Koyi stared at her own handwriting, the loops and curves unmistakable.
> Elian,
If she finds you before the 12th dawn, protect her. Don't let her fall apart like I did. Tell her the truth when it's time. She's stronger than I ever was.
– Koyi
Silence stretched between them, fragile and heavy.
"You know me," she said finally.
"I've known you in a hundred lives," he answered. "But this is the first one where you might survive."
Tears welled up in her eyes. She didn't know why. Maybe it was the weight of the truth. Or the sorrow in his voice. Or the deep pull in her soul that told her this wasn't just destiny — it was love rewritten in fragments of time.
"You said I might survive," she whispered. "What happens in the others?"
Elian looked away. "You die. Trying to save me. Trying to save the world. Every time."
Koyi wrapped her arms around herself as the wind stirred again, leaves spiraling like tiny dancers around them.
"But this time," he said, his voice firmer, "we're going to change it. You have the letters now. That changes everything."
"Who's sending them?"
"Sometimes you. Sometimes… someone else. Someone who calls herself Tomorrow. We don't know who she really is. But she's trying to fix the timeline from collapsing."
The sky darkened. Distant thunder rolled like a forgotten prophecy waking up.
"What happens if we fail?" Koyi asked.
"The world collapses in on itself. Reality fractures. Time stops flowing."
"So… just the usual apocalyptic stakes," she said with a half-laugh, wiping a tear.
Elian smiled faintly. "Pretty much."
They sat in silence again. This time, not in fear, but in understanding.
When Elian finally stood, he offered her his hand. "Come on. There's something else you need to see. Before the next letter arrives."
Koyi hesitated for only a moment before taking it.
The night stretched out before them like an unopened book — and together, they stepped into the story that was waiting to be rewritten.