The room was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that presses against your ears until you hear your own heartbeat.

You were lying in bed, but you couldn't remember falling asleep.

The window was open, but no breeze came through. The curtains hung still, frozen mid-sway, as if the world outside had simply stopped.

You sat up slowly. The floorboards creaked beneath your feet, but the sound felt distant—like it belonged to someone else's house.

Outside the window, there was no street. No houses. No city. Just a pale, endless fog stretching in every direction, swallowing the horizon.

A figure sat in the old chair by the dresser, legs crossed, head tilted. They looked like you. Same face, same eyes, same tired slump to their shoulders. But their expression was different—calm, almost amused, like they'd been waiting a long time.