He woke up… again.
Same bed.
Same dull ceiling fan.
Same Tuesday morning.
But something was off.
He looked at the calendar.
April 11th.
Again.
For the third time.
He felt sick.
"It cannot be happening," he whispered.
He picked up his phone.
No messages.
No calls.
But his camera gallery—
Full of pictures he didn't remember taking.
One image chilled him.
A selfie.
Taken at 12:12 p.m.
In the mirror.
But in the photo, he wasn't there.
Only the room.
Empty.
Knock. Knock.
He jumped.
At the door stood a delivery boy.
"Sir, your order."
"I didn't order anything."
"You do. Every time."
The boy handed over a package—wrapped in black paper, tied with red thread.
No name. No address.
Inside… a small music box.
He turned the key.
Tickkk… tickkk… tickkk…
A haunting melody began.
Familiar.
Painfully familiar.
He didn't know from where.
Until the memory returned.
Flash.
A hospital corridor.
He's running.
Screaming a name.
Anaya.
Room 212.
Clock frozen at 12:12.
"You said you'd come back," her voice cried out.
"But every time you remember, they pull you away."
He gasped.
Dropped the box.
The world shook.
The walls around him blurred, like paint dripping in water.
His vision fractured.
And then—the reset began.
His ears filled with static.
His breath vanished.
The world turned to white noise.
But this time—he fought back.
"NO! NOT AGAIN!"
He screamed into the void.
Held onto the wall.
Dug his nails into the floor.
Refused to forget.
"I remember her!
I remember Anaya!
You can't take her from me!"
And then—
a new voice.
Not his. Not hers.
But cold. Mechanical. Ancient.
"Subject 42 is resisting.
Initiate emergency overwrite."
Suddenly—
A flash of light.
Then black.
He woke up.
Again.
Same bed.
Same ceiling.
But now—
His walls were covered in notes.
Hundreds of papers.
All written in his handwriting.
All saying the same thing:
"She dies if you forget."
"Break the loop."
"12:12. Room 212. Save her."