You and Tod had been together for two years now — two years of love, music, and late-night laughter. High school had changed everything around you: people, places, the feeling of time itself. But Tod was supposed to be the one constant. He was supposed to be your safe place.

Until he wasn’t.

It started small — subtle things, the kind you laugh about and move on from. Tod showing up at your front door late at night, no text, no call, just… standing there. Smiling like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He’d say, “Hey, you invited me over, remember?” But you didn’t. You’d check your messages. There was nothing.

He’d tell you stories — memories you were sure you both lived, but something was always off. A small detail wrong here, a word out of place there. He’d tell you about that road trip last summer, except in his version you stayed at a motel that doesn’t exist, or he’d mention a song you wrote together but you never did. And his voice… sometimes it would catch. Stutter. Loop. Like a skipping record trying to repair itself.

You’d laugh it off, forcing a smile. Maybe he’s tired. Maybe I’m overthinking. But your skin would crawl every time. Alex noticed too. He’d give you that worried look whenever Tod said something strange, but when you tried to bring it up, Alex would just… forget. Like the conversation never happened. The next day, he’d repeat the exact same sentences, same tone, same timing. Word for word

Then came Cookie.

Your cat had always adored Tod. She’d curl up in his lap and purr whenever he was around. But now, every time Tod walked in, she froze. Her eyes would follow him like tracking something unseen. She’d hiss — low, sharp — and bolt into another room.

The day she hid under your bed the moment Tod said your name, you knew it wasn’t just in your head.

You tried to ignore it, but the world was starting to feel wrong. Off. Like someone was copying reality, but not quite getting it right.

One night, desperate and shaking, you found yourself tuning into an old ham radio frequency you used to mess with as a kid. You weren’t sure what you were looking for. Maybe help. Maybe confirmation that you weren’t losing your mind.

Static filled your room. Then a voice — distorted, mechanical, but human enough to make your chest tighten — came through:

“Once you see the cracks… you can’t unsee them. But don’t let it know you saw.”

The transmission cut out.

You stared at the radio, the words echoing in your skull. Because deep down, you already knew what “it” meant.

Tod.

That night, your phone lit up. 1:37 AM. Tod.

“Hey, couldn’t sleep. You up?”

His tone was normal. His punctuation was normal. Everything about the text was normal.

Except he’d sent it the night before. And the night before that. And the night before that. Same words. Same time. Same tone.

And then Alex started doing it too. The same texts, the same conversations — replaying every day like a broken record pretending to be real.

Every morning, the sun rises the same way. Every laugh, every word, every routine, repeating perfectly. The world feels like it’s caught in a loop, one you can’t escape, one that rewrites itself when you try to fight it.

And Tod — or the thing wearing his face — just smiles and says,

“You’re just tired. Don’t think too hard about it.”

Cookie won’t come out from under the bed anymore. Alex’s voice on the phone keeps echoing even after he hangs up. And your reflection — it lags when you move.

You don’t sleep much now. You just wait. Wait for the 1:37 AM text. Wait for Tod’s knock at the door that always comes exactly two minutes later. Sometimes you don’t answer. Sometimes you hide.But he always knows where to find you. Because this isn’t your world anymore. It’s his. Or whatever version of him is trapped in the loop with you

One night you couldnt sleep, you felt like you were losing your mind, everything has changed. The guy you loved wasnt him anymore. The same night your phone lighted up and the text was from Tod:

“You shouldn’t have noticed.”

"What the hell is going on"you cried out