I didn't hear the alarm.
It was the faint rustle of leaves outside the window, the warm morning sun slipping past the curtain, and the smell of something frying in the kitchen that woke me. I opened my eyes slowly, groggily, expecting the usual: an aching back, the sound of my phone buzzing with emails, or a meeting notification screaming into my skull.
But instead, I saw… my old room.
The blue wall paint that I had begged my parents for.
The scratch on my wooden desk from when I dropped a screwdriver.
All of it, untouched. Perfectly preserved.
I sat up. My body felt... lighter. I glanced at my hands — no scars, no calluses, no wrinkles of age. Just smooth skin, like time had peeled off years while I slept.
I rushed to the mirror above my study table, nearly knocking over an old school notebook in the process.
Sixteen.
I was sixteen again.
---
I stumbled backward, breath caught in my throat. I tried to rationalize — dream? hallucination? mental breakdown?
But it felt too real.
The way my bedsheet scratched my leg.
The way the morning air tasted of dust and sun.
Even the muffled voice from the kitchen.
"Get up, you'll miss the bus!"
It was my mother.
Alive.
I froze.🥺
I hadn't heard her voice in eight years. Not since that day.
Not since she collapsed in the backyard holding a tray of tea cups, smiling even as the light in her eyes began to fade.
My throat tightened. My chest pulled in on itself.
I wanted to run to her, hug her, cry into her shoulder and scream everything, but I knew I couldn't. Not yet.
---
I checked the calendar on the wall.
March 17th
A day before the storm.
A day before I ruined the best friendship I ever had.
A day before my dad lost his job.
A day before my brother left, and didn't return.
The last day when everything still felt whole.
And somehow, for reasons beyond logic or science, I was here again.
Was it fate? A gift? A glitch in time?
It didn't matter.
This was the day before everything collapsed. And I had a second chance.
---
I walked slowly into the kitchen.
There she stood — mom — frying dosas, her hair tied back, humming some old Hindi song under her breath.
She turned, saw me, and smiled. "Still sleepy? Come eat before it gets cold."
I stared at her. Memorized the lines around her eyes. The small mole on her neck. The way she folded her towel over her shoulder like she always did.
I sat down quietly. Tears welled up, but I blinked them back.
She served me a plate without asking. Just like always.
This time, I wouldn't take it for granted.
This time, I would listen more. Speak less. Hug longer. Choose softer words
I didn't know how long I'd stay in this borrowed yesterday.
Maybe just for a day.
Maybe until I did what I was meant to.
But one thing was certain:
This time, I wasn't going to let the world fall apart so easily...