There was no ground. No up, no down. Just wind screaming past her ears, colors colliding, and sound crashing like waves inside her skull.
She opened her mouth to scream, but the storm swallowed it whole. Memories whipped past her like knives wrapped in ribbon.
Clang. A locker slammed shut. Laughter. Not the kind that included her.
“Fat freak,” someone muttered, and it stuck harder than a bruise.
The echo of ‘sweet’ sixteen. The ache of being seen just enough to be hated—and never enough to be known.
She tumbled through it, helpless. Arms flailing, heart racing.
Time wasn’t slipping anymore. It was yanking. Dragging her back, gut-first, soul-splintered, like it was spitting her into the past with no warning.
Then—silence. Total. Crushing.
She hit the ground with a jolt that punched the air straight out of her lungs. Her back arched from the shock, mouth open but soundless, eyes blinking through the blur.
Her pulse was deafening. Her breath? Gone.
She lay there a second longer, body buzzing with leftover static. Then slowly, shaking, she pushed herself up on her elbows.
The room around her came into focus—and with it, disbelief.
The ceiling slanted exactly how she remembered. The carpet, same old beige with a wine stain half-scrubbed out. Posters lined the wall—Backstreet Boys, crooked and faded, the same one she swore she’d ripped down freshman year.
“No,” she breathed.
The pink lamp with the crack at the base. The chipped dresser drawer she always meant to fix. It was all here. All of it.
She stood on legs that barely remembered how. Her fingers drifted to the bookshelf beside her—dog-eared fantasy novels, glitter-covered diaries, and old pens with dried-up ink.
She was standing in her childhood bedroom.
Fifteen years ago.
“This can’t be real…” she whispered.
But even her voice was different—higher, softer. Like it belonged to the version of her she buried years ago.
With dread sinking in her stomach, Ava turned toward the vanity mirror.
At first, she thought it was a trick of the light. The reflection shimmered slightly, like a television screen flickering just before it dies. But then it sharpened—and Ava’s breath hitched in her throat.
The face staring back at her wasn’t the one she’d usually seen in the bathroom mirror. Gone was the sleek makeup, the carefully brushed hair, the understated elegance she’d curated like armor.
In its place was someone she hadn’t been in nearly two decades.
Rounder cheeks, a face dotted with acne scars she’d worked so hard to erase. Hair that frizzed no matter how much she straightened it. A body that never quite fit into the jeans sold at the stores her classmates worshipped.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, stumbling back, hands flying to her face. It felt different. Softer. Younger. Real.
She opened the closet door and stared at the contents—hoodies, clunky sneakers, a denim jacket she hadn’t worn since sophomore year. She spun, heart racing, everything inside her tipping.
“No. No. This isn’t happening,” she muttered terrified.
She reached for her phone—but of course, it wasn’t there. She searched the desk drawers, the floor, under the bed. Nothing. Panic bloomed in her chest.
“This is a dream,” she told herself. “Just a really bad dream.”
But dreams didn’t have the weight of old bedsprings or the smell of apple shampoo clinging to the pillowcases. She opened the door to the hallway.
The wallpaper. The floorboards. The sound of a TV from downstairs—daytime news, probably. Every inch of it screamed home, but not her home anymore. A home that didn’t exist now.
Ava gripped the stair rail tightly, her fingers digging into the cool wood as she made her way down one step at a time.
Each movement felt like a test of reality, like if she moved too quickly, the illusion might shatter. She leaned around every corner before stepping forward, half-expecting to catch her reflection doing something she hadn’t. The house felt suspended in time, familiar and wrong all at once.
When she reached the kitchen, her breath caught in her throat. Everything was exactly as she remembered. Her throat tightened as she stepped further inside, every detail wrapping around her like a memory too sharp to touch.
She could almost hear her father in the next room, humming the same tune he always did on Sunday mornings. Her ears strained for it—the sound of the newspaper rustling, the faint tap of his watch as he absently knocked it against the armrest.
She didn’t know what hurt more—the possibility that he might be here, or the fear that he wasn’t.
“Dad?” she called softly, barely more than a whisper. She didn’t even know if she wanted an answer.
The silence was so thick it felt like it might choke her. Then, she heard footsteps approaching from behind. They were light, casual, familiar.
She turned slowly, every part of her body tensed.
A girl walked in, earbuds in, mouthing along to music only she could hear. Ava stared, heart stuttering. It was Jenny. But not Jenny as she knew her now—this was her teenage sister, barely fifteen, ponytail swinging as she walked past without so much as a glance.
“Jenny?” Ava’s voice was louder this time, shaky with disbelief. But her sister didn’t react. She kept walking, heading straight for the pantry and rummaging inside like she was alone.
Ava stepped back, her breath quickening. The panic settled in her chest like a weight.
Was she invisible in this version of her world? Or had time forgotten her just as thoroughly as she had tried to forget this place?
Or was it just because Jenny used to ignore her entire existence back when she was sixteen and she was now doing the same?
Jenny never turned an eye on Ava. Matter of fact, to her Ava was just as invisible as Casper the Ghost.
She turned and ran up the stairs, her footsteps louder than she meant them to be. She didn’t stop until she was back in her childhood bedroom.
The door slammed behind her, and she collapsed onto the bed in a heap, burying her face in the comforter. Her hands gripped the edges like she could hold onto something solid. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts.
“Okay,” she said aloud, voice shaking. “Just… think.”
She forced herself to sit up, her eyes darting around the room, trying to piece it all together. The watch. The strange little shop. The man who spoke in riddles about stories needing to be rewritten.
Was this what he meant? Was this her chance to fix something? Or was she simply being forced to live through every painful moment again?
Her throat closed with panic as the questions pressed in. What was she supposed to do here? Was this some twisted test? A second chance? Or was she trapped in a loop she’d already escaped once?
The idea of being sixteen again made her nauseous. High school had been a battlefield she barely survived. She had spent years growing, fighting, becoming someone stronger, someone different.
A soft knock at the door startled her. “Ava?” a voice called. It was her mother—gentler than she remembered, less rushed. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she croaked, not knowing what else to say. “Just tired.”
Her mother lingered a second. “You’ve got school in half an hour.”
School. Of course. That version of her life was still in progress here. She dropped her head into her hands.
If she stepped outside that door, would she be back in math class? Would she have to dodge hallway whispers and mean girls with glossy smiles?
Her stomach churned. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to feel what she used to feel. She’d buried it all for a reason.
Ava turned back to the mirror, her heart already uneasy. She’d seen it before—the face from fifteen years ago staring back at her. She thought it had been a trick of the light, a glitch in this impossible reality. But something about it kept pulling her closer.
Her palms pressed against the vanity. The reflection didn’t shift this time. It waited. Watching. That same teenage version of her—acne, round cheeks, scared eyes that didn’t yet know how much they’d have to survive. But now… something was different.
The girl moved again—but this time, Ava hadn’t. Her breath caught.
In the glass, the younger Ava tilted her head, slowly. Deliberately. And then she lifted her hand.
Ava’s arms stayed frozen at her sides. “Oh my god,” she breathed, taking a shaky step back.
The light above her buzzed sharply and went out. The room darkened instantly, the only glow now coming from the mirror itself—soft, silvery, like moonlight rippling over water.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Ava’s blood ran cold. She stumbled back, hitting the dresser behind her.
The mirror began to ripple like liquid. The reflection stretched, distorted, reaching toward her. And then—a hand burst through the glass. Fingers pale and shaking. Reaching. Grasping for her.
Ava could only scream.