Why did it have to happen to me?
The thought echoed inside Alex's mind like a lingering curse.
His chest felt tight, as though something heavy was pressing down on his heart. The question refused to fade, repeating itself over and over, carving deeper into his thoughts.
He had done everything he could.
Everything to protect them.
And yet, in the end, he still failed.
Only now did he finally understand what his father had meant on that day.
But what exactly had happened?
What words had his father spoken?
And why did that memory feel heavier than it should?
To understand that, we must go back.
Some lives pass quietly, fading into the crowd without leaving a trace. Others are destined to collide with truths they were never meant to uncover.
Alex's life belonged to the latter.
Alex was a shy boy.
Not the quiet kind who blended seamlessly into the background, but the type whose voice trembled whenever he tried to speak. His words often stumbled over each other, as though they were afraid to leave his mouth. Every sentence felt like walking across a fragile bridge—one wrong step and he would fall into embarrassment.
Only around his family did he feel safe enough to breathe normally.
He was a 10th-grade student with only a handful of friends. They were kind to him, never mocking or pressuring him, yet Alex still felt a persistent sense of distance. It was as if there were an invisible wall separating him from everyone else.
He smiled when appropriate.
He nodded when spoken to.
But he rarely initiated conversation.
It wasn't always like this.
Once, he had been more cheerful. More talkative. More alive.
Then something happened.
A single incident shattered that version of him, sealing his confidence behind fear and hesitation. Though he tried to bury the memory, it lingered like a shadow, following him everywhere.
Alex had an elder sister named Nicole.
Nicole was everything he wasn't.
She was confident, outgoing, and naturally strong-willed. While Alex hesitated over every decision, Nicole acted without second-guessing herself. She spoke clearly, laughed loudly, and carried herself with a boldness that made people gravitate toward her.
Friends admired her.
Teachers praised her.
Strangers respected her.
And Alex admired her too.
Perhaps more than he admitted.
Where Alex felt small, Nicole seemed fearless. Where Alex doubted himself, Nicole moved forward with certainty. He often wondered what it would feel like to live without fear—to speak without his voice trembling.
Despite their differences, Nicole cared deeply for him. She defended him when others underestimated him, and she always encouraged him to be braver.
Their parents, too, loved him unconditionally.
Their home was warm, filled with familiar sounds—the hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the clock in the hallway, the faint noise of traffic outside, and the occasional laughter from the living room.
It was peaceful.
And tomorrow was his birthday.
Alex wasn't excited.
Birthdays felt like reminders—reminders that time kept moving forward while he remained trapped in his own fears.
But his family didn't see it that way.
They were excited for him.
That night, the house felt livelier than usual. Soft yellow light filled the living room, and the smell of cake lingered faintly in the air. Alex lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling while listening to distant footsteps and muffled voices in the hallway.
The clock ticked steadily on the wall.
11:59 PM.
11:59… and 50 seconds.
The final seconds stretched like an eternity.
Then—
The clock struck twelve.
Footsteps hurried down the hallway, accompanied by hushed laughter and playful whispers. A moment later, a knock sounded at Alex's door.
"Happy Birthday, Alex!"
He pushed himself off the bed and opened the door.
His parents and Nicole stood there, smiling warmly, holding a cake lit with flickering candles. The candlelight danced across their faces, casting soft shadows on the walls.
Alex forced a small smile.
They gathered around him as he made a wish he didn't really believe in and cut the cake. Sweet frosting scented the air, and the room felt warm with their laughter.
It was a simple celebration.
A sincere one.
Soon, exhaustion settled over him, and he returned to bed. The room grew quiet as the house slowly drifted into sleep.
The next day, Alex didn't go to school.
Instead, he spent the entire day with his family.
Morning sunlight poured through the windows as they watched movies together, sprawled across the couch in the living room. The cushions sank beneath their weight, and the faint smell of popcorn and warm fabric lingered in the air.
Later, they visited a water park.
Bright colors gleamed under the afternoon sun. The scent of chlorine mixed with sunscreen, and the sound of splashing water echoed through the open space. Children ran past laughing, droplets glimmering on their skin.
Alex felt lighter than usual.
For once, the heaviness in his chest eased.
They ended the day at his favorite restaurant.
Warm lighting bathed the interior in gold. The aroma of spices, grilled meat, and fresh bread greeted them as they sat at their table. The soft murmur of conversation and clinking cutlery created a comfortable, familiar rhythm.
Alex enjoyed the meal.
He enjoyed the day.
It was, without doubt, a good day.
A day worth remembering.
That night, they returned home.
The streetlights outside cast long shadows across the floor as everyone changed into pajamas and headed to their rooms. The house slowly fell silent.
Alex lay on his bed, staring at the dim ceiling as sleep tugged at his eyelids.
Then—
A knock.
Soft.
Familiar.
Alex frowned and got up.
He opened the door.
His parents and Nicole stood there again.
Smiling.
"Happy Birthday, Alex."
The words sent a chill through him.
"Stop messing with me," he muttered. "My birthday is already over."
They stared at him in confusion.
Nicole gently said, "Check the date."
Confidently, Alex pulled out his phone.
Then froze.
The date on the screen contradicted everything he remembered.
The world seemed to tilt.
His hands trembled, breath caught in his throat. Still, he forced himself to smile, to act normal. He cut the cake again. Laughed again. Pretended to sleep again.
But this time, his mind refused to rest.
A memory surfaced—
a novel he had once read.
A story about time loops.
About death triggering repetition.
A terrifying realization formed.
So that means… I died.