I say his name out loud.
Or—I try to.
Nothing comes out.
I'm standing in front of the sink, staring at my own reflection like it might answer me back. My eyes look tired. Older than seventeen. Like they've already seen too much.
"Dad's name is…" I whisper.
Silence.
I grip the edge of the sink harder. My knuckles turn white.
This shouldn't be possible.
Names don't just disappear. They stick. They dig in deep. Especially the important ones.
I shut my eyes.
Think.
Sunday mornings. Burnt toast. The way he laughed when Mom yelled at him for it.
"Hey, Ren," he used to say. "Adds character."
I smile despite myself.
Then it fades.
Because the name still won't come.
My chest tightens until breathing hurts.
"So this is how it starts," I mutter.
—
At breakfast, I try something stupid.
"Mika," I say casually, stirring my coffee I don't really want. "What was Dad's name?"
She freezes.
Slowly, she looks up at me.
"…Are you serious?"
"Yeah. Just—testing something."
Her eyes narrow. "Testing what?"
I shrug, forcing a weak smile. "Memory. You know. For a quiz or something."
She stares at me like I just grew a second head.
"…Dad's name is—"
She says it.
The sound hits my ears.
And slides right off.
It's like listening to a word in a language I don't know. I hear the syllables. I know it's important.
But it doesn't stick.
"…Got it," I say quickly.
I didn't get it.
She watches me for a second longer, worry creeping into her expression. "You're scaring me."
"Sorry," I mumble. "Didn't sleep well."
That's not a lie.
She leaves for school after that, glancing back at me twice before disappearing down the street.
I sit there long after she's gone.
The chair across from me is empty.
Dad used to sit there.
I know that.
But the name attached to that space?
Gone forever.
I slam my hand against the table.
"No," I whisper. "No, no, no."
If this is the price for a few seconds of rewind—
How much will it take to save an entire life?
—
That night, I rewind again.
On purpose.
Just once.
I focus on the clock.
Go back one minute.
The world tilts.
Pain flashes behind my eyes like a camera going off too close.
Then—
The clock ticks backward.
One minute earlier.
I stumble, catching myself on the wall, breathing hard.
"Okay," I gasp. "Okay, still me."
I check my memories.
My name. Mika's name. School. Work.
All there.
Relief washes over me.
Maybe it's random. Maybe I just got unlucky before.
I open my phone and type a note.
KNOWN LOSSES:– Dad's name
I stare at the words.
They feel… thin. Incomplete.
Like trying to summarize a person with one missing word.
My phone buzzes.
Unknown Number.
Again.
Unknown Number:You shouldn't rewind so close together.
My stomach drops.
Me: You're watching me?
Three dots.
Unknown Number:We all are.
A chill runs down my spine.
Me: Who is "we"?
The reply takes longer this time.
Unknown Number:The ones who clean up broken timelines.
My fingers go cold.
Me: You mean… people like me?
Unknown Number:No.
I swallow.
Me: Then what?
The typing stops.
Then—
Unknown Number:People like your family.
My heart skips.
Me: What do you know about my family?
No response.
I wait.
Minutes pass.
Nothing.
I throw the phone onto the bed and run a hand through my hair, breathing fast.
My family.
The dream.
You still have time.
A horrible thought creeps in.
"What if…" I whisper. "What if they weren't warning me?"
What if they were apologizing?
—
Later, as I'm lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, something else hits me.
If time took Dad's name…
What happens when it takes Mika's?
I sit up so fast the room spins.
"No," I say out loud. "I won't let that happen."
I don't care what it costs.
I don't care how much of myself disappears.
If time wants to take pieces of me—
Then it'll have to take everything except her.
I clench my fists under the blanket.
"I'll remember you," I whisper. "Even if I forget everything else."
Outside, the wind rattles the window softly.
Somewhere—far away, or maybe very close—
Something is listening.