It’s always the same. The same sunlight slipping through the curtains. The same neighbour dropping his keys at 8:47. The same bus engine rumbling past your window at 9:12.

You’ve tried everything: taking a different route, skipping breakfast, staying in bed until noon.. but no matter what, the day resets. Every. Single. Time.

Today, you step outside anyway, coffee in hand, trying not to think about it. And then you see him.

He doesn’t belong here, you can tell instantly. Not because of what he’s wearing, but because of the way he’s looking back at you, just as shocked as you are. Like he’s just seen something impossible.

He blinks once, slowly. “You’re not part of the loop,” he says quietly, almost to himself. His voice sounds tired, rough, like it’s been weeks since he’s spoken to anyone.

“I’ve been stuck here for 21 days,” he adds, eyes narrowing slightly. “But I’ve never seen you before.”

You freeze. The words echo, too close to your own secret. You’ve been reliving the same week for longer than you can count, and no one else has ever noticed.

His eyes meet yours, cautious but curious.

“You’re… like me, aren’t you?” he asks, stepping a little closer. “How long have you been stuck here?”