"How many times have we done this?"
Kyle's question hung in the air.
Arin stared at his best friend.
The pocket watch was still ticking inside his bag. The rooftop clock remained frozen at 11:17, and Kyle looked as though he'd just remembered something he had spent years trying to forget.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Arin asked.
Kyle shook his head.
"I don't know."
"Then why did you say it?"
"Because—"
Kyle stopped.
He pressed his fingers against his temples.
For one brief second, his expression changed. The cheerful boy Arin knew seemed to disappear, replaced by someone exhausted and terribly afraid.
"I saw something," Kyle whispered.
"What did you see?"
"You."
Arin's heart pounded.
"Me?"
"Not you now. You were older. You were standing in the rain, and you kept saying you were sorry."
Arin couldn't move.
In his original life, there had been a rainy evening when he'd wanted to apologize to Kyle. He'd written a message, deleted it, and convinced himself he'd do it tomorrow.
Tomorrow never came.
He had never told anyone about that.
Not even Kyle.
"Did I say anything else?" Arin asked.
Kyle closed his eyes.
"You said, 'This time, I'll get it right.'"
The pocket watch stopped ticking.
For several seconds, neither boy spoke.
Then Kyle looked at Arin.
"Tell me the truth. Have we met before?"
Arin wanted to answer.
He wanted to tell Kyle everything.
But before he could speak, a voice came from the rooftop entrance.
"You're both asking the wrong question."
Mira Solen stood in the doorway.
Her notebook was clutched tightly against her chest.
"The question isn't how many times you've done this," she said.
She opened the notebook.
"It's how many times someone has made you forget."
Mira placed the notebook on the rooftop bench.
Arin approached cautiously.
"How long have you known?"
"I don't know."
"That's becoming everyone's favorite answer."
"Because it's the truth."
Mira turned several pages.
Most contained ordinary notes: classroom observations, homework reminders, small details about students.
Then the handwriting changed.
The next page was dated April 14, 2016.
Arin recognized the date immediately.
The day he'd awakened in his seventeen-year-old body.
Below it was a sentence.
Arin Vale returns.
He felt the blood drain from his face.
Mira turned another page.
April 21 — Arin speaks when he remained silent before.
Another.
April 28 — Kyle remembers.
Arin looked up.
"You wrote these?"
"I think so."
"You think so?"
"Arin, listen to me." Mira's voice sharpened. "I found this notebook in my schoolbag three weeks ago. At first, I thought someone was playing a prank. Then things started happening exactly as written."
She pointed at the next entry.
The boy with the broken watch will appear.
Beneath the sentence was a rough sketch of a boy with black hair.
The face looked exactly like Arin's.
Except for the eyes.
The drawn boy's eyes were completely blank.
Kyle leaned over the notebook.
"Who's that supposed to be?"
Mira turned the page.
"I don't know."
The next entry was written in different handwriting.
DO NOT LET ARIN REACH THE CLOCK TOWER ON MAY 1.
Below it, someone had drawn eleven small marks around a circle.
And one final sentence:
If he remembers the promise, the first timeline will return.
Arin stepped back.
"What promise?"
Mira looked at him.
"That's what I'm trying to find out."
A cold breeze swept across the rooftop.
The pages began turning on their own.
One page.
Then another.
Then they stopped at the very end.
There was a photograph tucked between the final pages.
Three children stood outside an old building.
One was Arin.
One was Kyle.
The third child's face had been scratched out.
On the back, someone had written:
WE PROMISED WE WOULD ALL COME BACK.
Kyle stared at the photograph.
Then he whispered a name.
"Mason."
Arin turned sharply.
"Who?"
Kyle looked confused.
"I... I don't know."
But tears had begun to gather in his eyes.
And Arin realized something terrifying.
Kyle hadn't simply remembered another timeline.
He had remembered someone he'd forgotten.
They searched the school archives until the librarian announced closing time.
No student named Mason appeared in the current records.
No Mason appeared in the old competition lists.
Nothing.
It was as if the third child in the photograph had never existed.
"This makes no sense," Kyle muttered, flipping through another folder. "People don't just disappear from every record."
"Maybe he used a different name," Arin suggested.
"Then why would I remember him?"
Arin didn't answer.
Because he had the same question.
He studied the photograph again.
The three children stood close together. Kyle was grinning at the camera. Arin looked annoyed, as usual.
The third child stood between them.
Even with his face scratched out, something about his posture felt familiar.
Arin turned the photograph over.
A faint line of writing had been hidden beneath the first message.
He angled it toward the light.
The promise was made at 11:17.
Below that was an address.
An abandoned community center on the outskirts of the city.
Arin recognized the place.
In his first life, it had been demolished years ago.
"Guys," Mira said quietly.
She was looking at her notebook.
A fresh line had appeared on the page.
Neither Arin nor Kyle had seen her write it.
MAY 1 — THE THREE WILL MEET AGAIN.
Mira's hands trembled.
"Today is April 28," she whispered. "That gives us three days."
Kyle stood up.
"Then we go to the address."
Arin shook his head.
"The notebook specifically warns me about the clock tower. We don't know what happens if we follow these clues."
"Exactly," Kyle replied. "We don't know anything. And I'm tired of everyone acting like I'm the only person who doesn't deserve an explanation."
The words struck Arin harder than Kyle intended.
Kyle looked at him.
"Sorry."
"No." Arin lowered his eyes. "You're right."
For once, Arin didn't try to control the situation.
He didn't pretend to know the answer.
He simply folded the photograph carefully and placed it in his pocket.
"May first," he said. "We'll find out who Mason was."
Mira closed her notebook.
"And if the notebook is right?"
Arin looked toward the distant clock tower.
"Then we'll face that, too."
That night, Arin couldn't sleep.
He sat at his desk, the photograph and pocket watch laid out before him.
He had spent years believing his greatest mistake was failing Kyle.
Now he wondered whether that failure had been only one piece of something much larger.
His phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
UNKNOWN: You found the photograph.
Arin typed immediately.
ARIN: Who is Mason?
The reply came almost instantly.
UNKNOWN: Someone you both promised to save.
Arin's fingers hovered over the keyboard.
ARIN: Why can't Kyle remember him?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then:
UNKNOWN: Because Kyle made the sacrifice.
Arin stood abruptly.
ARIN: What sacrifice?
No response.
He tried calling the number.
The call failed.
Then a final message arrived.
UNKNOWN: Don't go to the community center on May 1.
Arin stared at the screen.
ARIN: Why?
The reply consisted of a single sentence.
UNKNOWN: Because the last time you went there, Kyle never came home.
The room fell silent.
Arin looked at the photograph.
Three children.
Three promises.
One missing person.
He picked up the pocket watch.
For the first time, the hands moved forward.
11:15.
11:16.
11:17.
A tiny click sounded from inside the watch.
The back panel opened.
Beneath it was a folded scrap of paper so small Arin almost missed it.
He unfolded it.
Five words were written in faded ink.
MASON WAS NEVER THE THIRD.
Arin read the sentence again.
Then again.
His phone lit up one last time.
The sender's name was no longer UNKNOWN.
It displayed a name.
KYLE ALEXANDER.
The message read:
Arin, if you're reading this, don't trust the version of me standing beside you.
Arin looked toward his bedroom door.
Somewhere in the house, the floorboards creaked.
And from the darkness beyond his doorway, he heard Kyle's voice.
"Arin?"
His phone vibrated again.
KYLE ALEXANDER: I'm sorry. I remember everything now.
Arin slowly turned toward the door.
The voice outside spoke again.
"Bro? Are you awake?"
It sounded exactly like Kyle.
But the message on the phone remained on the screen.
And Arin suddenly understood that whatever happened on May first had already begun.