Koyi stood by her window the next morning, waiting.
The air had changed.
Not in the way that made leaves flutter or clouds swell, but in a way that ran through her bones. Subtle. Deep. As if the very rules of her world had been rewritten during the night and were now watching her silently to see what she'd do.
The watch lay dormant on her desk, still frozen at 11:11.
She didn't touch it. Not yet.
The moment she'd stepped through the White Door inside Terminal 0, she had known she was stepping into uncharted ground. This world wasn't just altered—it was rebuilt.
The school hallway confirmed her suspicions.
The posters on the bulletin board were for events she didn't remember. Clubs that never used to exist—"Time Theory Society," "Memory Restoration Initiative." Teachers who once taught English were now leading ethics lectures. Even the principal's nameplate was different.
Principal Marris instead of Principal Dele.
She stared at the plaque for a long time, wondering how many other people in this new world had rewritten roles.
"Lost?" came a familiar voice behind her.
Koyi turned and saw Aren.
He looked the same—but his uniform blazer was missing the usual pin. The little clock-shaped badge that had always sat proudly on his lapel.
Instead, he wore a silver ribbon.
She tilted her head. "What's the ribbon for?"
He looked down, then smiled. "Founders' Week. It's new."
"New?"
"Started a few years ago. Or so I've been told."
"Have you always worn it?"
He paused, gaze narrowing slightly. "I… think so."
Koyi's breath caught. He didn't know.
This wasn't the same Aren.
Or maybe it was—but a version who had never entered the observatory. A version who hadn't burned alongside her in a timeline now gone. She wanted to ask him a hundred things. Test him. Pull at loose threads.
But the fear of unraveling everything kept her silent.
Instead, she walked beside him to class, matching his pace as if nothing had changed.
---
Lunchtime was colder than usual. A brisk wind carried the scent of dew and jasmine from the nearby gardens. The eucalyptus tree still stood in its usual place. But the bench beneath it was newer, cleaner. Polished metal replaced the worn wood.
Koyi sat quietly, watching students bustle around the field. Nothing seemed out of place to them. But every step she took in this new reality felt like walking on thin glass.
Aren joined her a few minutes later with a wrapped sandwich and two paper cups of tea.
"I don't know how you take yours anymore," he said. "So I got two."
She took one. "Thanks."
He studied her in the corner of his eye. "You've been quiet all day."
"Have I?"
"Quieter than usual."
She looked at him. "What if… things weren't always like this?"
He smirked. "Koyi. I've known you since Year 9. Things have always been this weird."
Her fingers tightened around the cup. "Do you remember the observatory?"
"What observatory?"
Her chest sank.
He didn't remember.
He wasn't pretending.
She stared at her tea, steam curling up like threads of memory she couldn't grab hold of.
---
That evening, her room felt colder too.
Books on her shelf were different. Titles she'd never read. Journals she'd never owned.
And her letters?
Gone.
Every drawer. Every box. Every folder she'd once hidden them in—empty.
As if they'd never arrived.
She opened her closet and found an unfamiliar coat hanging beside her school blazer. Inside its pocket was a folded note:
> "Koyi,
If you're reading this, the world has changed.
The letters didn't follow you. They stayed behind with the fire.
But you've kept something more important—your will.
Don't waste it.
The next shift comes soon.
Be ready."
No signature. But she recognized her own handwriting on the envelope.
From another version of herself.
One who must've known she'd make it here.
She sat on her bed, holding the note, feeling the emptiness of a life that had lost its anchors.
Was this the price for walking through the White Door?
A world where no one remembered, and she was utterly alone?
---
The next morning, the sky was pink.
Not just the sunrise—but the whole sky. As if someone had tinted the dome of the heavens in soft blush and forgotten to change it back.
Birds flew differently. Lower. Slower. Circling twice before perching.
And time felt… wrong.
She checked the clock on the wall.
7:24 a.m.
Then the one on her phone.
9:16 a.m.
Then her watch.
Still 11:11.
"Great," she whispered. "Time is falling apart again."
She packed her bag and left early.
---
She wandered through Newbridge, searching for signs. Something that might help her understand what shift was coming next.
Then, as she turned the corner near the old library—she saw a girl standing in the alley.
Tall. Slender. Hair pinned back in a tight braid. A silver watch on her wrist—exactly like Koyi's.
The girl looked up and smiled faintly.
"You found your way," she said.
"Who are you?"
The girl stepped closer. "A version of you. A little ahead. A little behind. I've been waiting."
Koyi's pulse quickened. "You're from the fracture?"
The girl nodded. "The White Door brought us all to different points. Some landed farther in. Some… not far enough."
"So you're real?"
"As real as this timeline allows." She looked up at the sky. "They're starting to see the cracks."
Koyi followed her gaze. The clouds above had split slightly—not in shape, but in pattern. A straight line across the heavens.
"You see it now," the girl said. "The sky can't hold the weight of what you brought through."
"What did I bring?"
"Freedom."
Koyi swallowed. "Then why does it feel like a cage?"
"Because no one else remembers what you had to break to get it."
They stared at each other.
Then the girl stepped forward and handed her a folded map.
"The next door won't open until you let go of the past one."
Koyi took it slowly. "Why me?"
"Because you were the first to stop listening… and start writing."
Then the girl turned and walked away.
---
Koyi returned home and opened the map.
It wasn't a traditional one.
There were no streets or borders.
Only moments.
Each one listed by emotion.
> Regret: The hallway on your twelfth birthday.
Longing: Behind the green locker, third row from the back.
Hope: Underneath the stage lights during the play you never auditioned for.
Grief: The hospital corridor you've never walked.
Love: The words you never said.
Koyi touched each line, tracing it like a vein through her memory.
These weren't directions.
They were coordinates of the soul.
And somewhere in that map, the next door waited.
---
At school the next day, she avoided Aren.
She didn't know how to talk to this version of him.
The one who smiled without weight.
The one who didn't carry the memory of their burning.
Instead, she went to the auditorium, where the play auditions were taking place.
She hadn't signed up. But her name was already on the list.
She stared at it, confused.
Koyi Ember. Slot 4.
Her hands trembled as she stepped onto the stage.
The lights were blinding.
A teacher called her name. "Koyi? Your monologue?"
She opened her mouth—and spoke words she didn't recognize. Her voice echoed through the room.
> "Time doesn't wait for those who fear it.
It folds.
It hides.
And sometimes… it watches to see who will step into the fold without a net."
Silence followed.
The teacher blinked. "That wasn't from the script."
Koyi stepped back. "I know."
Then she left.
Outside, the sky had shifted again.
No longer pink.
Now—gold.
---
Back in her room, she opened her journal and began to write.
Not a letter.
Not a plea.
But a story.
Hers.
> "Once, a girl received letters from the future. Then she stopped receiving them.
Then… she started writing her own.
And though she had no map, no guide, and no promises, she chose to walk anyway.
Even when the sky cracked.
Even when time betrayed her.
Even when love forgot her name."
She paused.
And then wrote two final words:
"She remembered."