James woke up to the sound of rain tapping gently against the window.
For a moment, he didn't move. He lay still, staring at the pale ceiling above him, listening to the familiar rhythm of water meeting glass. The air smelled faintly of coffee and dust—his apartment always smelled like that in the mornings.
7:18 a.m.
The digital clock beside his bed glowed softly in blue.
James rubbed his eyes and exhaled. Another ordinary day.
He swung his legs off the bed, feeling the cold floor beneath his feet, and stood up slowly. Outside, the city looked washed clean by the rain. Cars moved lazily along the streets, their headlights blurred by water and distance.
Nothing felt wrong.
Nothing felt special.
And yet… his chest felt strangely tight, as if he were forgetting something important.
He dismissed the feeling and headed to the bathroom.
Ada was already waiting for him at the café.
She always was.
James spotted her through the fogged glass the moment he arrived—sitting at their usual table near the window, hands wrapped around a mug, her head tilted slightly as she watched the rain. Her dark hair fell loosely over her shoulders, framing a face that somehow made the rest of the world feel quieter.
When she noticed him, her lips curved into a smile that felt dangerously warm.
"You're late," she said as he sat down.
"Only by three minutes," James replied. "I checked."
Ada laughed softly. "You always check."
"That's because you always exaggerate."
She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "Maybe I like pretending you keep me waiting."
James shook his head, smiling despite himself. "Cruel."
The waitress arrived with his order before he could say more. Coffee. No sugar. Exactly how he liked it.
James paused, frowning slightly.
"Did I order already?" he asked.
Ada blinked. "No. But you always get the same thing."
"Right," he said, lifting the cup. "Of course."
Still, the unease returned—brief but sharp—like a thought slipping away before it could fully form.
They talked about small things. Work. The weather. A movie Ada wanted to watch. It was comfortable, familiar, and warm in the way routines often are.
Yet James kept noticing things.
The way Ada stirred her drink exactly five times before stopping.
The way a man outside slipped on the wet pavement at precisely 8:02 a.m.
The way a delivery truck honked twice, paused, and honked again.
It felt less like observing the world and more like… remembering it.
"You okay?" Ada asked suddenly.
James looked up. "What?"
"You've been staring," she said, her voice gentle but curious. "Like you're somewhere else."
He hesitated. "Do you ever feel like a day has already happened?"
Ada smiled faintly. "Every Monday."
"No, I mean—" He stopped himself, feeling foolish. "Never mind."
She studied him for a moment longer, then reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Her touch grounded him, warm and real.
"Today feels nice," she said. "Let's not ruin it with existential dread before noon."
James laughed. "Deal."
The rest of the day unfolded smoothly.
Too smoothly.
James finished his work earlier than expected. The same colleague made the same joke at lunch. The same song played on the radio during his walk home. Every event lined up with a precision that was unsettling in hindsight, though harmless in the moment.
By evening, the rain had stopped. The city glowed under streetlights, reflections stretching across wet asphalt like broken mirrors.
Ada insisted on walking home together.
"I don't like nights after rain," she said. "They feel… quiet."
"Quiet is good," James replied.
"Not always."
They walked side by side, their shoulders brushing occasionally. James noticed how easily his pace matched hers, as if his body knew the rhythm without thinking.
At the intersection near her apartment, she stopped.
"This is me," she said.
James nodded. "Text me when you're inside."
Ada smiled, then hesitated. "James?"
"Yeah?"
"Promise me something."
He frowned slightly. "What is it?"
"If I ever start acting strange… don't ignore it."
The words felt heavier than they should have.
"Strange how?" he asked.
Ada shrugged, forcing a laugh. "I don't know. Just—promise."
James searched her face, trying to read the expression behind her eyes. There was something there. Something uncertain. Almost afraid.
"I promise," he said quietly.
She relaxed, kissed his cheek, and turned toward her building.
James watched her until she disappeared inside.
Only then did the feeling return—stronger than before.
A certainty.
Something is wrong.
At 11:47 p.m., James's phone rang.
The sound jolted him awake.
He reached for the phone, heart pounding, even before he saw the caller ID.
Ada.
"Hey," he answered, sitting up. "Is everything okay?"
There was no reply.
"Ada?" he said again.
Static crackled softly on the line.
Then a voice—faint, shaking.
"James… I think—"
The call cut off.
James was out of bed instantly, throwing on his jacket and shoes without thinking. His hands trembled as he grabbed his keys.
Her apartment was only ten minutes away.
He ran the entire way.
Rain began again, sudden and cold, soaking through his clothes as sirens wailed somewhere in the distance. His lungs burned, his thoughts racing faster than his feet.
By the time he reached her street, flashing red and blue lights illuminated the buildings.
A crowd had gathered.
James pushed through, dread clawing up his spine.
And then he saw her.
Ada lay on the wet pavement, motionless, her dark hair spread around her like ink in water. Blood mixed with rain, washing toward the gutter in thin red lines.
Someone was saying something—an officer, maybe—but James couldn't hear the words.
He dropped to his knees beside her.
"Ada," he whispered. "No. No, no, no…"
Her eyes were open but unfocused. Her lips parted as if she were trying to speak, but no sound came out.
James took her hand. It was already cold.
"I promised," he said hoarsely. "I promised I wouldn't ignore it."
Her fingers twitched once.
Then went still.
James didn't remember falling asleep.
But when he opened his eyes again, rain tapped gently against the window.
He stared at the ceiling.
The smell of coffee and dust filled the air.
7:18 a.m.
The digital clock glowed softly in blue.
James's breath caught in his throat.
"No," he whispered.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
A message preview lit up the screen.
Ada: You're late. Don't forget our coffee.
James sat up slowly, his heart hammering against his ribs.
The day had reset.
And this time—
He remembered everything.