What would you do if time refused to move forward, looping you back to the one moment you wish you could forget? Would you fight it, clawing at the edges of a reality slipping through your fingers, or would you let it consume you, dragging you back into the wreckage of everything you lost? How long could you stand watching the same scene unfold, the same words spoken, the same choices made before you started to wonder if maybe the point wasn’t to escape, but rather to understand?
**************
Elliot woke to the sound of silence. The kind that seeps into empty spaces, stretching across walls once warmed by laughter. He lay still, staring at the ceiling of what used to be their apartment. The walls were bare, the floors cold.
Madison had left two months ago. Yesterday, she came to collect the last of her things. The coffee table, the bookshelves, the blanket they used to fight over when the nights got too cold. What she left behind wasn’t a home. Just an echo of the past.
Elliot rolled out of bed and dragged himself to the kitchen. He reached for the coffee tin, his fingers stopping mid-air. The coffee maker was gone.
His stomach twisted, a slow, sinking weight pressing against his ribs. He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. He knew it shouldn’t bother him—just another thing missing, another piece of her erased from the space they used to share. But it did. It bothered him a lot, actually.
He shook his head and threw on a hoodie, he should get out of the apartment anyway.
The café where they used to meet was mostly empty at this hour. The scent of fresh bread lingered in the air, as it always had. The place felt familiar, but different somehow.
The barista, looked up and smiled. “Black coffee?”
Elliot hesitated. He hadn’t been here in months.
“Uh, yeah, thanks…” he muttered.
As he reached for his wallet, the barista handed him the cup. “Already paid for,” he said, nodding toward the window.
Elliot turned, his chest tightening.
Madison stood by the window, wearing the same blue jacket she always did, her dark hair swept over one shoulder.
No.
This wasn’t possible.
He blinked, hard. When he looked again, she was gone.
Shaken, Elliot returned to the apartment. He set his coffee down on the counter, but when he looked up, he froze.
The coffee table was back. So were the bookshelves. The blanket was folded neatly over the couch.
His throat tightened. “Madison?”
No answer.
He turned slowly, every nerve in his body on edge. The bedroom door was ajar.
Inside, her side of the closet was full again. The air smelled of lavender. A single photo lay facedown on the bed.
Elliot picked it up.
It was them, smiling at the café. The first time they met.
Elliot woke with a sharp inhale.
The room was empty again. Cold. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and he grabbed it, his hands shaking.
Madison: I’ll be there in an hour to grab the last of my stuff.
His chest tightened. That wasn’t right.
She’d already come.
Hadn’t she?
He walked into the kitchen. The counter was empty, except for one thing. A coffee mug. Hers.
His pulse pounded. He grabbed his jacket and left, the walls of the apartment pressing in on him.
He didn’t think. He just walked. And when he looked up, he was back at the café.
The barista smiled like nothing was wrong. “Black coffee?”
Elliot’s stomach dropped. “What?”
“Your coffee. You want it black?” Elliot nodded and reached for his wallet.
“Buddy, It’s already paid for…”
His ears rang. “Who paid for it?”
The barista shrugged. “Your girlfriend, I think. She’s waiting by the window.”
Elliot turned.
And there she was.
It didn’t matter what he did. The day always started the same.
Madison’s text. The coffee. The photo on the bed.
On the fifth morning, exhausted and unraveling, Elliot let the barista gesture toward the window.
This time, he walked toward her.
“What is this?” His voice was rough, breaking in places he didn’t expect.
She looked up, startled. “What’s what?”
“This!” He gestured wildly. “This day. You. Why are you here?”
Madison frowned, setting down her coffee. “Elliot, are you okay?”
He laughed, sharp and bitter. “No. I’m not. You left me. Remember? You took everything. And now I’m stuck here. Reliving it.”
She leaned in, her voice softer now. “Elliot… I didn’t leave you yesterday. I left months ago.”
His heart stilled. “Then why did you pay for my coffee today?”
As he turned to gesture toward the barista, a sharp pain twisted in his skull, a violent pull, like being yanked out of himself. The world blurred, spun—
And then, silence.
His hands steadied against something solid. He looked down.
A coffee maker lay on the floor, knocked from a shelf.
Elliot blinked, his vision sharpening, his breath coming fast and uneven. The fluorescent hum overhead sent chills down his spine.
He wasn’t in the café.
He was in a department store.
He checked his phone. It was the day after she left.
He shook his head. “I guess it’s finally time to move on…” he said, picking up the coffee maker and carrying it to the register.