Riven stopped sleeping.
Every night, he would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, counting the seconds.They never passed evenly.Some stretched longer. Some ended too soon.Time itself — even here — felt wrong.
The city outside was flawless. It never rained, never stormed, never decayed. The air smelled the same every morning. The people moved like clockwork, repeating small gestures — same words, same smiles, same tone.
At first, he told himself it was trauma. That he was imagining things.But then, one morning, he noticed it — the newspaper headline.
"Local Parade Celebrates Peace Day – 23rd Anniversary."
He checked the date.October 23.
The next morning, it was the same.Same headline.Same date.Same photos.
And the third morning, it happened again.
The world wasn't moving forward.It was looping for a single day.
Riven walked the streets, eyes scanning everything.Every action was perfect, too precise — a symphony of routine.A mother feeding pigeons in the park.A bus driver waving at a child.A man in a gray suit is checking his watch every 43 seconds.
He turned a corner — and froze.
A child's ball rolled across the street, bouncing once. Twice.It stopped mid-air.Just… stopped.
The child laughed, reached for it — and it resumed motion like nothing had happened.
Riven's hands trembled."This world isn't real."
"It's as real as you need it to be," said a voice.
He turned — and saw The Architect again, standing under a flickering streetlamp.
"You were supposed to rest," the Architect said. "You were never meant to notice."
Riven's jaw tightened. "What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything. You did. You forced existence to build itself around your guilt. You wanted peace, so the Paradox gave you a world where nothing could break."
Riven stepped closer. "Then why is it looping?"
"Because perfection doesn't evolve. It only repeats."
The Architect's voice deepened — mechanical undertones flickering beneath his words.
"You built this cage out of love and regret. The world can't progress, because your heart can't."
Riven's throat closed. "You're lying."
"Am I? Tell me, Riven — when's the last time you saw the sun set?"
He froze.He couldn't remember.
The Architect smiled faintly, fading back into static.
"Enjoy your paradise, while it still believes you belong in it."
That night, Riven went back to the café.Lira was there again, smiling as always, wearing the same white apron, humming the same tune.
He sat at his usual seat."Long day?" she asked, voice bright and calm.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "You could say that."
She tilted her head, a strand of hair falling into her face. "You look familiar, you know. Have we met before?"
His heart clenched. "Maybe."
She smiled — the same soft curve that used to undo him. "We should get coffee sometime, then. I'm off at six."
He almost said yes. But his gaze drifted to the clock on the wall.5:59.
He waited.The second hand ticked once — then again — then reset.5:58.
Lira didn't notice.She kept moving, rewinding, repeating the same gestures — hair flip, smile, turn, hum.
Riven's eyes filled with horror.He whispered, "You're caught in it too."
Her eyes flickered — for just a moment, something behind them shifted.Pain.Recognition.Fear.
Then she smiled again. "Would you like anything else?"
Riven stood abruptly and left.
Outside, the city glowed beneath two perfect suns frozen mid-descent.A billboard flickered, text glitching violently before stabilizing:
"EVERYTHING IS FINE."
He stared at it until his reflection distorted in the screen.
"No," he whispered. "Nothing is."