Avery never noticed the glitch at first. It wasn’t dramatic, no flicker of lights, no loud distortion, no dramatic shift in the sky splitting open. It was smaller than that, the kind of thing you’d miss if you blinked, the kind of thing you’d dismiss because you were already late. She was halfway down Maple Street, coffee shop in sight, when the world…hesitated. That was the only way she could describe it later. Not stopped. Not shifted. Hesitated. Like reality had to buffer for half a second. The air felt thick, sound dulled, and a car passing by seemed to drag through syrup. Then everything snapped back into place so smoothly she almost convinced herself it hadn’t happened at all.
Avery adjusted the strap on her bag and kept walking. You’re just tired. She hadn’t been sleeping well, deadlines at work, too many emails, too much screen time. That was normal. Everything was normal. The bell above the café door chimed when she stepped inside. Warm air wrapped around her, and the scent of espresso and baked bread settled into her lungs like something familiar and grounding.
Marissa looked up from behind the counter. “Good morning, Avery.” The smile was perfect…too perfect. Avery didn’t know why the thought struck her like that. Marissa always smiled; that was her job. But something about the delivery felt… rehearsed. Like she’d already said it. Like she’d said it over and over and over. “Morning,” Avery replied, stepping forward. Marissa tilted her head slightly. “Good morning, Avery.” The exact same tone, cadence, the same blink between syllables.
Avery froze. There was no stutter in time, no visible reset. It was just…said again. Marissa didn’t look confused or like she’d repeated herself. She just stood there, smiling patiently. Avery forced a small laugh. “Yeah. Morning.” Her voice sounded thin. “You’re later than usual.” That sentence landed wrong, because Avery was sure, absolutely sure, Marissa had said that yesterday. Same words. Same tone. She tried to recall the memory clearly. Yesterday had been Tuesday, right? No. Wednesday. No… “What?” She couldn’t remember.
“I’ll just have a black coffee,” Avery said quickly. “No sugar.” Marissa nodded. “Black coffee. No sugar.” Again, too smooth, too identical. Avery’s stomach tightened. She stepped aside while the coffee brewed and looked around the café. People were typing on laptops, laughing softly, scrolling their phones. Normal. Everything was normal. But it felt staged, like everyone had been positioned there deliberately. Like she’d walked onto a set she didn’t audition for.
Her name was called. She picked up the cup. The lid felt warmer than usual. Or maybe her hands were colder. “See you tomorrow,” Marissa said. Avery looked up. There was something in her eyes, not threatening, not strange, just knowing. “Yeah,” Avery said slowly. Tomorrow.
The office building loomed ahead, all glass and steel, reflecting a city that looked slightly washed out. The lobby smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and something metallic. Jenna sat at the front desk, scrolling, typing, existing. Avery walked past. Jenna looked up. “You’re late, Avery.” The words hit her like a slap, because she had heard them before. Not earlier this week. Not yesterday. Just now. In her head. Before Jenna even opened her mouth.
Avery stopped walking. “What?” “You’re late,” Jenna repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Big meeting at ten, remember?” The tone, the slight sarcasm, the rhythm, every detail aligned perfectly with something Avery couldn’t fully access. Like trying to recall a dream that dissolves the harder you chase it. “I know,” Avery said slowly, though her voice sounded wrong. Detached. Like someone else was speaking through her.
She turned toward the elevator. Each step felt too deliberate, too aware. The polished metal doors reflected her back. She caught her own gaze, and something in her chest tightened. Her hair was longer. Not dramatically, just enough. Her blouse was a deeper shade of blue than the one she remembered putting on that morning. And her expression… her expression wasn’t confused. It was exhausted. The reflection blinked. Avery did not. Then the doors slid open. The image shattered into normalcy.
She stepped inside, heart pounding. The doors closed. For a split second, the reflection didn’t move with her. It stared forward, still. Watching her. Then it synced back, perfectly aligned, as if it had never lagged. Avery gripped the railing. No one else in the elevator reacted. No one else seemed to notice the faint hum that felt slightly out of sync, like a recording playing just half a beat too slow. You’re overthinking. You’re tired. You’re stressed. This is normal. But the word normal felt fragile now, like glass under pressure.
By lunchtime, the sensation had intensified. Conversations felt recycled. Sentences echoed. Laughter repeated in the same rhythm. Even the way her coworker leaned back in his chair felt choreographed. Scripted. Avery felt like she had already lived this morning, not in memory, but in muscle. Like her body knew the movements before they happened.
As she walked back to her desk, she saw it: an envelope sitting in the center of her keyboard. White. Smooth. Unaddressed. Her breath stalled. She was certain, absolutely certain, it had not been there before. Slowly, she reached out and picked it up. The paper inside was heavier than it looked, crisp, folded once. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded it.
Two words. Written in elegant black ink: “Remember this.”
The world around her dimmed slightly. Not visually, but perceptually. Like her awareness narrowed to a pinpoint. Remember what? Her pulse thudded in her ears. A faint ringing followed. She scanned the hallway. Empty. Silent. Too silent. No footsteps. No chatter. No printer humming. It was like someone had muted the office.
Avery folded the note carefully, too carefully, as if it might disintegrate if handled roughly. She slid it into her pocket. And the noise returned. Voices. Typing. Phones ringing. All at once. Normal again. Except her chest wouldn’t stop tightening. Because deep down she knew. This wasn’t random. This wasn’t stress. This wasn’t fatigue. Something was wrong. And worse…something wanted her to notice.
