THE MESSAGE

At exactly 3:17 a.m., my phone lit up.

I didn't hear it ring.

There was no vibration.

No notification sound.

The screen simply turned on beside my pillow, glowing against the darkness of my bedroom.

I opened my eyes.

For a moment, I had no idea what had woken me.

Then I saw the familiar shape of my desk.

The pile of books beside it.

The hoodie hanging from my chair.

The faint light coming through the curtains.

Home.

I reached for my phone.

One notification.

Messages.

I frowned.

Nobody texted me at three in the morning.

At least, nobody who wanted to stay alive until morning.

I unlocked my phone.

There was a new conversation.

No name.

No profile picture.

Just a number I didn't recognize.

I stared at it.

Maybe it was spam.

I almost deleted it.

Then I opened the message.

I know you don't believe me yet.

I sat up slightly.

What?

I read it again.

There was another message underneath.

But tomorrow, don't get on the 7:40 bus.

I stared at the screen.

My first thought was that someone had the wrong number.

My second thought was that this was some kind of stupid prank.

My third thought was that whoever sent it knew my bus schedule.

That thought made me uncomfortable.

I typed:

Who are you?

I pressed send.

Delivered.

I waited.

Nothing.

I checked the number again.

Nothing.

No country code I recognized.

No contact information.

I threw my phone onto the pillow.

"Okay," I whispered to myself. "Definitely a prank."

I turned over.

Closed my eyes.

Tried to sleep.

Five minutes passed.

Then my phone lit up again.

I grabbed it before I could even think.

Another message.

You will meet Ethan tomorrow.

I froze.

Ethan?

Who was Ethan?

I typed:

What Ethan?

The typing indicator appeared.

Three dots.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Disappeared.

My heart started beating faster.

Then the answer arrived.

You don't know him yet.

I stared at the words.

Yet.

That one word bothered me more than everything else.

I typed again.

Then how do you know I'm going to meet him?

No answer.

I waited.

Ten seconds.

Twenty.

A minute.

Then another message appeared.

Because I remember what happens.

My stomach dropped.

I called the number.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

The call ended.

I called again.

This time, it didn't even ring.

Number unavailable.

I looked at the screen.

Then at the clock.

3:26 a.m.

I opened the conversation details.

And that's when I noticed something strange.

The messages had dates.

I scrolled up.

The first message.

September 11.

Tomorrow.

The second.

September 12.

I frowned.

Then I saw the last message.

September 14.

I stopped breathing for a second.

September 14?

I checked the date on my phone.

September 10.

I checked again.

September 10.

I opened my calendar.

September 10.

I looked back at the conversation.

September 11.

September 12.

September 14.

Messages that hadn't happened yet.

I laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because sometimes your brain laughs when it doesn't know what else to do.

"This is impossible."

I restarted my phone.

When it turned back on, I opened the conversation again.

The messages were still there.

Same number.

Same words.

Same dates.

I didn't sleep after that.

---

By morning, I had convinced myself it was a glitch.

A weird one.

A very creepy one.

But still a glitch.

I stood in front of my mirror, trying to make my hair look less like I'd spent the entire night staring at my phone.

I looked terrible.

My eyes were tired.

My thoughts were worse.

I checked the messages again.

Nothing new.

Good.

I locked my phone.

"Forget it, Mia."

I grabbed my backpack.

"Forget the creepy messages."

I walked downstairs.

My mom was in the kitchen.

She looked at me.

Then at the clock.

"You're late."

"I'm not."

"It's 7:08."

I grabbed a piece of toast.

"I have plenty of time."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Your bus comes at 7:40."

My hand stopped.

For a second, neither of us said anything.

Then I forced myself to smile.

"Yeah. I know."

My mom went back to making coffee.

I looked at my phone.

The message was still there.

Don't get on the 7:40 bus.

I locked the screen.

No.

I wasn't going to let a stranger decide what bus I took.

At 7:32, I left the house.

The morning air was cold.

The streets were quiet.

Everything looked normal.

That somehow made it worse.

I reached the bus stop at 7:37.

Two people were already waiting.

An old man.

A girl from my school.

And then...

Him.

A boy stood beneath the shelter.

Dark hair.

Black jacket.

Hands in his pockets.

He was looking down at the ground.

I slowed down.

Something about him felt familiar.

Not I know you familiar.

Something else.

Like I'd seen him in a dream I couldn't remember.

He looked up.

Our eyes met.

He didn't look away.

Neither did I.

Then my phone vibrated.

I looked down.

One new message.

Same unknown number.

My heart dropped.

Don't let him see this message.

I looked up.

The boy was watching me.

I immediately locked my phone.

He smiled.

Not a big smile.

Just enough to make me wonder if he'd noticed.

Then he said,

"You're Mia, right?"

Everything inside me went still.

I stared at him.

"How do you know my name?"

His smile disappeared.

He looked almost surprised.

"You're Mia Carter."

"That's not an answer."

He looked toward the road.

Then back at me.

"You shouldn't be here."

I frowned.

"What?"

He stepped closer.

"You're supposed to be at home."

My heart started pounding.

"Who are you?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he looked at my phone.

My hand tightened around it.

Then I heard the sound of an engine.

The bus.

I turned.

The digital sign on the front read:

7:40

Exactly.

The bus pulled into the stop.

The doors opened.

People started getting on.

The boy didn't move.

Neither did I.

Then he said quietly,

"Don't get on."

I stared at him.

"Why?"

His eyes met mine.

And for the first time, I noticed something strange.

He looked scared.

Not of me.

For me.

"Because if you get on that bus," he said, "everything changes."

I swallowed.

"What happens?"

He looked at the bus.

Then at me.

"I don't know anymore."

The doors began to close.

I took one step forward.

He grabbed my wrist.

Not hard.

Just enough to stop me.

"Please."

That one word made me freeze.

The bus pulled away.

We watched it disappear down the street.

Silence.

I slowly looked at him.

"Who are you?"

He hesitated.

Then he said,

"Ethan."

My stomach dropped.

The name from the message.

The name I had never heard before last night.

"Ethan what?"

He looked at me.

"Carter."

I stared at him.

"What?"

He looked confused.

Then he whispered,

"No."

His eyes moved to my face.

Like he was seeing something impossible.

"That's not your name."

I stepped back.

"What are you talking about?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he reached into his jacket.

Pulled out his phone.

Unlocked it.

Then showed me the screen.

A photograph.

An old photograph.

It showed two children standing beside a lake.

A little boy.

A little girl.

I barely looked at the boy.

Because I knew the girl.

I knew her immediately.

Same eyes.

Same smile.

Same tiny scar above her eyebrow.

It was me.

I stared at the photograph.

My voice disappeared.

"Where did you get that?"

Ethan looked at me.

"From you."

I shook my head.

"I've never seen this."

He went pale.

"You don't remember."

"Remember what?"

He looked down at the photograph again.

Then back at me.

And his voice dropped to a whisper.

"Us."

My phone vibrated.

We both looked at it.

Another message.

I opened it.

This time, there was only one sentence.

Whatever Ethan tells you, don't believe him.

I looked up.

Ethan was staring at my screen.

And suddenly I understood why the first message had warned me.

It wasn't telling me to stay away from the bus.

It was telling me to stay away from him.