Chapter 2: Shards of Sleep (Part 2)

The whisper before the rain.

The clock blinked again.

7:09.

Rowan rubbed his eyes, but the digits refused to change.The rain had started sometime during the night. It wasn’t heavy, only soft drumming against the windowpane — a rhythm both calming and wrong.

He sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, waiting for the morning to begin properly. For something, anything, to move.

Down the hallway, the kettle clicked on.

Same sound.

Same footsteps.

He looked up, realising with a sinking feeling that he already knew exactly what would happen next.

The boy would come running in.

The woman would call his name.

The smell of toast.

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

“Dad, you’re awake!”

The voice hit like déjà vu — too precise, too rehearsed.

He didn’t turn.

“Dad?”

He forced himself to look this time, but everything unfolded just as it had before: same shirt, same words, same laugh.

“Breakfast’s ready! You promised to take me to school, remember?”

Rowan’s throat went dry. “Yeah,” he said automatically.

The boy grinned and ran off, leaving behind the echo of yesterday.

Only it wasn’t yesterday.

It was the same.

Exactly the same.

The woman smiled from the kitchen again, holding the same plate of eggs.

“Did you sleep better?”

He stared at her. “Have we… had this conversation before?”

She blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

“This. Right now. You asked that before.”

Her smile faltered. “You must’ve dreamt it.”

Rowan opened his mouth to reply, but something caught his eye — the clock above the stove.

It read 7:09.

Not 7:10.

Not even flickering.

Just… frozen.

He pointed at it. “The clock. It’s stuck.”

She followed his gaze. Then she laughed softly.

“What are you talking about? It’s fine.”

He looked again.

The numbers were changing now. 7:10.

But he could’ve sworn—

He stopped himself.

They ate breakfast in silence. The boy hummed to himself; the woman looked through her phone. Everything seemed normal. But every clink of the spoon felt too familiar, too precise — like sound effects replayed from memory.

Rowan’s hand trembled slightly when he lifted his cup.

“I need some air,” he said.

The woman didn’t look up. “Okay. Don’t forget your umbrella.”

Outside, the rain had stopped. The world glistened with that soft, early light that doesn’t belong to any specific hour.

The air smelled of rain and static.

He walked aimlessly until he reached the corner where the boy had said goodbye yesterday.

Except — he was there again.

Same uniform.

Same smile.

Rowan froze.

“Didn’t you already go to school?”

The boy tilted his head. “School? What are you talking about, Dad? We just left the house.”

Rowan’s pulse quickened. “No. We did this already. Yesterday.”

The boy laughed nervously. “Dad, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m not—” He stopped himself, looking down. The boy’s shoes were wet. The rain hadn’t dried yet.

He looked up at the sky. No clouds.

Something flickered at the edge of his vision — a faint shimmer, like heat mirage, but colder.

When he turned, the street stretched too far, bending slightly, like a photograph warping under heat.

He blinked, and it was gone.

He walked alone after dropping the boy off — though he wasn’t sure how. His memories felt cut and rearranged.

The shop signs repeated themselves.

The same cat sat under the same awning twice.

He stopped in front of a mirror shop. Rows of ornate frames lined the window, all reflecting him from different angles.

Only one reflection didn’t move.

He stepped closer.

The reflection stood still, head tilted slightly to one side, eyes fixed on him.

Then it smiled.

Rowan staggered back, bumping into a passerby —

but when he turned again, the reflection was normal.

The man beside him frowned. “You okay, mate?”

Rowan nodded weakly. “Yeah. Just dizzy.”

The man walked away, shaking his head.

Rowan kept staring at the mirror.

A faint line of condensation traced across the glass, forming words:

“Don’t trust the next voice.”

His breath caught.

He wiped the glass — the message vanished.

Back home, he found the woman waiting by the door.

“Where did you go?” she asked, voice tight.

“I… needed to clear my head.”

She looked at him for a long time, then sighed. “You’ve been acting strange lately. Is it work?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Her hand reached for his arm. “Rowan, talk to me.”

He hesitated — then noticed something behind her.

In the reflection of the kitchen window, her hand wasn’t touching him.

It hovered an inch away.

He stared, unblinking.

In the reflection, she smiled.

But in real life — she didn’t.

That night, he dreamt of static.

Endless white noise, threaded with voices whispering his name.

Rowan.

Rowan.

Rowan.

When he opened his eyes, the room was dark.

The woman lay beside him, asleep. The boy’s faint breathing came from the next room.

He turned his head toward the clock.

7:09.

His chest tightened.

A whisper came from the dark.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

He sat up.

“Who said that?”

Silence.

He looked toward the window. A figure stood outside — blurred by rain, watching.

He rose slowly, feet touching the cold floor. The air was heavy, like it hadn’t moved in hours.

He reached the curtain, hand trembling, and pulled it aside.

Nothing.

Just the streetlight flickering.

He exhaled, shaky. Turned—

And froze.

The reflection in the glass was still there.

Staring back.

Smiling.

It mouthed something — three words he couldn’t hear.

Then the clock ticked.

7:10.

And the reflection was gone.

End of Chapter 2 — “Shards of Sleep (Part 2)

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