The hiss of the coffee machine was familiar, grounding. But today, it didn't settle Mia's nerves.
She stood behind the counter at the diner, mechanically wiping down laminated menus as the jukebox murmured a slow tune in the background. Outside, the neon sign buzzed and flickered—its stuttering glow cast irregular shadows along the window blinds. Inside, everything looked unchanged. But Mia could feel it. The air around her was different. Stretched. Frayed.
"Hey, Kelly?"
Mia turned. It was Beth, the server she'd chatted with yesterday—or thought she had. Beth's hair was pinned up the same way, her lipstick the same cherry-red shade, but her eyes held no spark of recognition.
"You said you were from Indiana, right?" Beth asked casually, pouring herself a coffee.
Mia froze. Yesterday, they'd had a full ten-minute conversation about home states, favorite diner meals, and the best time to visit Chicago. Mia had even laughed.
"Uh… yeah," she said slowly. "Indiana."
Beth just smiled and nodded like it was the first time she'd heard it.
Mia's throat dried. Her fingers tightened around the damp cloth.
Something's wrong.
She forced herself to return to cleaning, but her mind raced. Memory erosion. The phrase echoed in her thoughts like a warning siren. Not her own memory—Beth's. But why?
The note. The note in Sarah's coat pocket. Was this the price?
She drifted back to the breakroom at the start of her shift, glancing over the schedule tacked to the corkboard. Her name—Kelly—was still there. But the handwriting was different. Slightly. A curl on the "K" that hadn't been there before. She stared at it for too long.
Voices filtered in from the floor. Dishes clinked. Orders were called out. Everything should have felt normal. But it didn't.
The air hummed with wrongness.
She stepped out again, eyes scanning the room. There, in the corner booth, was a girl waiting alone. Blonde pigtails. Scuffed sneakers. Jenny.
The girl who always waited for Sarah after school.
Mia watched her flip through a comic book, feet swinging beneath the table. Jenny was anchored. Consistent. She had never forgotten Mia's face, even when others had. Even when time rippled.
Maybe she was an anchor point.
Mia jotted a mental note: observe Jenny. Check for dissonance.
Behind her, the neon buzz cracked again. Louder this time. A flicker—then darkness. The sign blinked out entirely before reigniting with a sputter. A customer muttered about the lights.
Beth passed her with a tray and smiled again. "So, you just moved here, huh?"
Mia didn't reply.
She stepped into the back hallway, heart hammering. At the end of the corridor was her locker. She opened it on instinct, needing something to hold onto.
And then she saw it.
The photograph. Pinned to the inside of the locker door. Or rather—not a photo. A square of discolored paper where a photo should have been. The tacks still held it in place. But the image was gone.
Erased.
She touched the surface gently. The paper was smooth. Cold.
She didn't remember what had been there.
But she knew something had been.
Her fingers shook.
Not just them. The world. The diner. Beth. The schedule. Even time itself. Things were shifting. Sliding. The consequence of even a small kindness.
Her actions had ripples.
And the echoes were getting louder.
She backed away from the locker slowly, then leaned against the wall. The fluorescent light above her buzzed softly, then hiccupped—a faint flicker, barely perceptible.
It was like the universe had hiccupped.
She pulled out her pocket notebook. Flipped to the last page. She started a new entry.
"Observation: Beth. Forgetting prior conversation. Time displacement localized. Visual consistency preserved. Verbal pattern altered."
Below that, she scrawled: "Jenny consistent. Check frequency. Possibly stable anchor."
The door behind her creaked. Mia turned sharply, but it was just another server reaching for napkin stock. No flicker. No echo.
Yet.
She folded the notebook closed and slipped it back into her apron. Every step back to the counter felt slightly off-rhythm. Like her body remembered a choreography the world no longer danced.
A customer waved her down. She approached on autopilot, scribbling the order, smiling mechanically. Two burgers, one black coffee, a slice of cherry pie. Easy. Routine. But when she looked up, she saw something impossible.
The same man who had ordered coffee that morning. Same table. Same shirt. But he was already halfway through the slice of pie he'd ordered now.
Mia blinked.
Had he eaten here twice today?
Or had time looped?
She turned back to the kitchen window, but the cook didn't seem fazed. The bell dinged. Another order slid through.
The world was spinning as if nothing had happened.
But Mia knew better.
The floor under her shoes felt solid, but her certainty did not. Every smile she gave now carried a question. Every nod of recognition from a customer became a quiet plea: do you remember me?
Beth returned. "You look pale. You okay?"
Mia nodded. "Did we talk yesterday? About Indiana?"
Beth blinked. "Did we?"
A pause. Beth shrugged. "Sorry, hon. I talk to a lot of people. My brain's Swiss cheese lately."
Mia forced a smile. "Yeah. Mine too."
She turned toward the back of the diner. Jenny was still there, flipping the comic's pages slowly, absorbed. Unaffected. A lighthouse in the storm.
Mia took a deep breath and turned back toward her station. As she resumed cleaning the counter, she noticed a tiny ripple along the metal napkin holder. Like heat waves above pavement. It faded before she could focus on it.
She didn't write anything down.
Instead, she stood still, listening to the world breathe.