Author's Preface
When Clara opened her eyes, something felt different. The cold air was gone, and so was the restaurant. She blinked in confusion as she looked around.
"What... what happened?" she whispered, turning in a slow circle.
Instead, she stood under an open sky that felt strangely real, almost too honest to be comfortable. It was daytime. But not the same kind she had left behind. The air carried no winter bite, no Scandinavian stillness only warmth that did not belong to the moment she remembered.
"Why does everything look so different?" Clara inhaled sharply. She took a step forward, the ground steady but somehow strange beneath her feet.
People moved around her, going about their day like nothing was wrong, a woman carrying groceries, two men talking by a doorway, a child running past with a ball. Clara stared at them, baffled.
Did they not see it? she thought. The blood moon. The aurora earlier. How are they all just... normal?
She pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heartbeat to slow. None of this made sense.
A few meters away, a child rode a bicycle along a quiet road, small, young, and completely unaware.
Clara hesitated. Then something inside her took over. She turned her eyes to the street beyond the child. A vehicle approached too quickly. Too uncontrolled and close.
Oh god — that car. It's going to hit him.
Her breath caught in her throat. The world narrowed. Without fully realizing she had moved, Clara ran. Her heels hit the pavement unevenly as panic took over. The space between her and the child felt too far, as if it stretched.
"Hey! Move!" she shouted.
The boy turned at the sound of her steps, confused. Clara reached him just as danger came closer. She grabbed him and pulled him away from the street. They fell together onto the ground, the impact knocking the air from her lungs.
The bicycle clattered a few feet away. A vehicle sped past where the child had been a second earlier.
Silence followed. Then a trembling inhale. The child’s small hands clutched her sleeve. He was shaking. Clara steadied him instinctively, brushing his shoulder gently despite the sting in her own palms.
“It’s alright,” she said softly, though her voice sounded distant to her own ears. “You’re safe now.” The child nodded quickly, eyes wide, unable to form words beyond a faint, breathless thank you. Footsteps approached.
A man arrived a moment later, wearing dark clothes. He looked alert and rushed but still controlled. His eyes quickly checked the area before focusing on the child.
“Mikkel! Are you alright? ” he asked, his voice firm but worried. The boy nodded again, still too shaken to respond properly. Clara looked between them. The man turned to her next.
“And you, ma’am? Are you injured?”
Clara slowly shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said quietly. “There was a car. It didn’t slow down.”
The man exhaled sharply, glancing briefly toward the road before returning his attention to her. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “You reacted quickly.” He reached into his coat and retrieved a card, offering it to her with both hands.
“If you experience any pain later, or if there are consequences from this incident, please contact us immediately. My employer will want to express gratitude properly.”
Clara hesitated before accepting it. “I didn’t do it for that,” she said simply.
“I understand,” the man replied. “But I insist.”
Clara remained frozen for a moment longer than she intended, the weight of everything still pressing against her thoughts like something half-real, half-impossible.
The security man had already turned his attention back to the child, gently guiding him away from the edge of the street. The boy kept glancing over his shoulder as he was led back, his small face still pale from shock.
Once. Twice. And then his eyes met Clara’s. He stopped walking for just a heartbeat, as though trying to understand something he could not yet name. Clara gave him a small, reassuring nod. Only then did he allow himself to be pulled away.
The man offered Clara a final, respectful glance before following after him. The calling card remained in her hand, slightly bent now from her grip, though she barely noticed it.
For a brief moment, she simply stood there. Trying to breathe. Trying to think. Trying to understand why the world felt… slightly misplaced beneath her feet. Then a familiar voice called out behind her.
“Clara!”
She turned, and there she was, her best friend... Ingrid. She stood a few steps away, as if she had been there all along. Her face showed concern, and she quickly moved closer. Her voice should have felt familiar and comforting, but something about it no longer aligned with what Clara’s mind was trying to process.
Because Ingrid looked wrong. Not in appearance. But in time. Her dark skin looked smoother, her face softer, as if the years Clara remembered were gone. The small lines around her eyes were no longer there. She also seemed lighter, like a version of Ingrid Clara didn’t know.
Clara stared at her. Almost unable to speak at first. “Ingrid…” she said, her voice unsure. “Is that really you? ”
Ingrid paused, confused for a moment, then let out a soft laugh as if the question were strange. “Of course it’s me,” she said. “Why wouldn’t it be? ”
Clara’s gaze lingered. “You look…” she stopped, unsure what to say. “You look younger.”
Ingrid blinked, then tilted her head with a small smile. “It’s my birthday,” she said lightly. “Maybe that’s why I feel younger today. I’m not old yet, Clara.” A small laugh escaped her as she stepped closer. Before Clara could respond, Ingrid reached out and pulled her into an embrace.
But even that warmth felt out of place to Clara, like a memory that didn’t know if it belonged to the past or the present.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the restaurant,” Ingrid said once she pulled back. “Daniel’s accident… everything happened so suddenly. I had to go to the hospital. I should’ve called you earlier.”
Clara’s brows tightened slightly. “Restaurant?” she repeated.
Ingrid nodded, completely unaware of the shift in Clara’s expression. “The one you reserved for my birthday,” she said casually. “You were so excited about it. I felt bad when I couldn’t come. I hope you still enjoyed it anyway.”
Clara did not respond immediately. Her mind, instead, was struggling to hold everything together.
Restaurant.
Reservation.
Birthday.
Daniel.
None of it sat correctly in the timeline she remembered only moments ago. Her gaze drifted past Ingrid without thinking, toward a glass window of a nearby shop.
And when she saw her reflection… Her breath stopped. It was not just Ingrid who looked younger.
It was her as well.
Herself. Clara.
But not the Clara she had just been. The reflection showed a woman in her mid-twenties. Her face looked softer than Clara remembered, free from the tiredness that had stayed with her for years. Her eyes were clear, with none of that quiet heaviness she had grown used to. Her black wavy hair fell loosely around her shoulders.
The woman in front of her looked lighter. Younger, even more beautiful. As if life hadn’t yet taught her to expect disappointment, and hope still came easily.
She stared at her reflection for a long moment. Clara slowly lifted her hand. The reflection moved with her. It was clearly her. But it was a version of her that didn’t carry all the weight she had been living with.
Her lips parted slightly. No words came out. “Ingrid…” she whispered instead.
“Yes?” Ingrid answered, still standing beside her.
“What… date is it?”
Ingrid frowned slightly at the sudden seriousness in her tone. “What do you mean? It’s October seventeen.”
Clara’s fingers tightened around the edge of her coat.
“And the year?”
A pause. A longer one this time. Then Ingrid answered, almost carefully, as if the question itself was strange.
“2026.”
The world didn’t explode or fade. It just went still, and Clara could finally hear her own heartbeat. Her hand slowly lowered. In the glass, her reflection stayed... young, unfamiliar, and free of the weight she used to carry.
For the first time since everything began... Clara De Vera understood that she was no longer standing in the life she had lived. She was standing at the beginning of something else entirely.
And she did not yet know whether it was a second chance…
or a mistake.