The Messages From Tomorrow Part 1

The message arrived at exactly 2:17 AM.

Not 2:16.

Not 2:18.

Exactly 2:17.

Rain hammered against the apartment windows while the city slept beneath a blanket of darkness. The storm had been growing stronger for hours, and every few minutes lightning flashed across the sky, briefly illuminating the rows of apartment buildings that stretched across the city. Most people were asleep. The streets below were almost empty except for a few cars moving through the rain. It was the kind of night that felt ordinary and forgettable.

On the seventh floor of an aging apartment building, a university student sat alone in his room trying to finish an assignment that was due the next morning. Several tabs were open on his laptop screen, but he had not typed a single word in nearly twenty minutes. His attention kept drifting away from the assignment and toward the thousands of thoughts that seemed to occupy his mind every night.

University life was not what he had imagined it would be. When he was younger, he believed success would come naturally if he worked hard enough. Reality turned out to be different. Every semester brought new pressure, new expectations, and new reasons to doubt himself. There were days when he felt motivated and confident, but there were also nights like this one when the future felt like a giant question mark.

His phone vibrated beside him.

Without looking, he ignored it.

A few seconds later, it vibrated again.

Assuming it was another promotional message or a friend sharing memes at an unreasonable hour, he casually picked up the phone and unlocked the screen.

The notification immediately caught his attention.

1 Voice Message Received

He frowned.

Who sends voice messages at two in the morning?

Curious, he tapped the notification.

The moment the chat opened, every trace of sleep disappeared from his body.

The message had come from his own phone number.

For a second, he thought he was looking at it incorrectly. He blinked and checked again.

Same country code.

Same digits.

Same profile picture.

Everything was identical.

The sender was him.

A strange feeling settled inside his chest.

He refreshed the chat.

The message remained.

He checked the number again.

Still the same.

Outside, thunder rolled through the sky.

The room suddenly felt colder.

His first thought was that someone had somehow cloned his number. His second thought was that he was simply too tired and was misunderstanding what he was seeing. Neither explanation felt convincing.

For almost a minute he stared at the play button.

Then curiosity took control.

Slowly, he pressed it.

Static filled the speaker.

A rough crackling sound.

Then breathing.

Heavy breathing.

Uneven breathing.

The kind of breathing that comes after running for a very long time.

A few seconds later, a voice spoke.

“Listen carefully. You don't have much time.”

The student froze.

Every muscle in his body locked into place.

The voice was his.

Not similar.

Not close.

Exactly his.

The same tone.

The same accent.

The same way he paused before certain words.

It sounded as though someone had secretly recorded him speaking.

The recording continued.

“If you're hearing this, it means it already started.”

His heartbeat accelerated.

Rain slammed harder against the windows.

The voice sounded terrified.

Not dramatic.

Not fake.

Terrified.

“Tomorrow, don't take the university bus.”

The room felt strangely silent despite the storm outside.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

Then the voice returned.

“You need to trust me.”

The recording ended.

Thirty-four seconds.

That was all.

Thirty-four seconds.

Yet somehow those thirty-four seconds managed to change everything.

He replayed the message immediately.

Then again.

And again.

Every time he listened, it sounded worse.

Not because it became scarier.

Because it became more real.

The breathing sounded real.

The fear sounded real.

The urgency sounded real.

Whoever recorded that message believed every word they were saying.

Unable to sit still, he stood up and walked toward the window. The city stretched endlessly below, illuminated by streetlights and flashes of lightning. Somewhere in the distance an ambulance siren echoed through the night.

He tried to convince himself that there was a logical explanation.

Maybe artificial intelligence.

Maybe a prank.

Maybe a software glitch.

Maybe someone had found a way to copy his voice.

The problem was simple.

None of those explanations explained the fear he heard in the recording.

And none of them explained why the voice sounded exactly like him.

For the rest of the night he barely slept.

Every time he closed his eyes, he heard the same sentence again.

Don't take the university bus.

The next morning arrived with grey skies and light rain. The storm had weakened but had not disappeared completely. He woke up feeling exhausted. For several seconds he stared at the ceiling before remembering the voice message.

Immediately, he grabbed his phone.

The message was still there.

Nothing had changed.

Which somehow made everything worse.

At breakfast, he barely spoke. His mother noticed immediately and asked whether he was feeling sick. He quickly blamed a lack of sleep. His younger sister laughed and said he looked like someone who had spent the entire night watching horror movies.

Normally he would have laughed with her.

Today he simply smiled and remained quiet.

Part of him wanted to tell them everything.

The message.

The warning.

The impossible phone number.

But how could he explain something he barely understood himself?

So he said nothing.

The silence followed him all the way to the bus stop.

Students crowded the roadside as they always did. Some laughed while sharing videos on their phones. Others complained about assignments and exams. A few discussed football. Everything looked normal.

The university bus arrived exactly on time.

Students immediately moved toward the doors.

His chest tightened.

The warning returned.

Don't take the university bus.

He tried to ignore it.

People played pranks all the time.

Maybe he was overreacting.

Maybe he was about to miss an important day because of a stupid voice note.

He took a step toward the bus.

Then his phone vibrated.

His entire body froze.

Slowly, he looked down.

Another voice message.

From his own number.

His hands suddenly felt cold.

He opened it.

The recording lasted only six seconds.

But those six seconds were enough.

“Do NOT get on that bus.”

The voice sounded different this time.

More desperate.

More frightened.

As though something terrible had happened between the first message and the second.

Students continued boarding the bus completely unaware of the battle taking place inside his mind.

One of his friends waved from the entrance.

“Hurry up!”

The student looked at the bus.

Then at the phone.

Then back at the bus.

Every instinct inside him screamed the same thing.

Don't get on.

“I forgot something at home,” he shouted.

“What?”

“I'll come later.”

Before another question could follow, he stepped backward.

The doors closed.

The bus pulled away.

Within seconds it disappeared around the corner.

For a moment he felt foolish.

Then embarrassed.

Then relieved.

Then foolish again.

Maybe he had just skipped university because of a prank.

Maybe

The explosion happened.

The sound tore through the morning like thunder exploding directly above the city.

People screamed.

Cars stopped.

Birds erupted into the sky.

A thick column of black smoke rose above nearby buildings.

His heart stopped.

The direction.

The timing.

The location.

The bus.

It was the bus.

Panic spread instantly. People began running toward the smoke while others pulled out their phones. Sirens echoed through the distance. Confused voices filled the street.

The student remained frozen.

His legs felt weak.

His breathing became uneven.

The warning had been real.

The message had known.

Before the explosion happened.

Before the news reported it.

Before anyone else.

The phone vibrated again.

Slowly, he looked down.

Another voice message.

Another message from his own number.

With trembling fingers, he opened it.

Static filled the speaker.

Then breathing.

Then his voice.

“You finally listened.”

A pause followed.

The kind of pause that makes your stomach sink.

Then came the sentence that destroyed every logical explanation he had left.

“This is only the beginning.”

The message ended.

That evening, every television channel in the city talked about the explosion. News anchors repeated the same footage over and over again. Emergency vehicles. Smoke. Chaos. Confusion.

Nobody knew exactly what had happened.

Experts discussed possibilities.

Reporters searched for answers.

Social media filled with theories.

But the student could not focus on any of it.

Because one question consumed every thought inside his mind.

Who was sending the messages?

And more importantly...

How did they know the future?

As darkness returned to the city, the storm returned as well. Rain once again tapped against the windows while distant thunder rolled across the horizon. The student sat alone in his room staring at the three voice messages on his phone.

Thirty-four seconds.

Six seconds.

Seven seconds.

Less than one minute of audio.

Yet those recordings had completely changed his life.

He looked at the sender again.

His own number.

His own profile.

His own identity.

Then another thought appeared.

A thought he had desperately tried to avoid all day.

What if the messages were not coming from someone pretending to be him?

What if they were actually coming from him?

The idea sounded ridiculous.

Impossible.

Insane.

Yet every other explanation seemed equally impossible.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden power outage.

The room instantly fell into darkness.

Outside, dozens of apartment windows went black at the same time.

Confused voices echoed from nearby buildings.

The entire neighborhood had lost electricity.

The student picked up his phone and switched on the flashlight.

The narrow beam illuminated the room.

At that exact moment, the phone started ringing.

Not vibrating.

Ringing.

His stomach dropped.

Slowly, he looked at the screen.

Incoming Call.

The caller ID displayed a number he knew better than anyone else.

His own.

For several seconds he simply stared at the screen while the phone continued ringing.

Rain hammered against the windows.

Thunder echoed across the city.

The glowing display reflected in his eyes.

Every instinct told him not to answer.

Yet another instinct whispered something else.

If he ignored this call, he might never learn the truth.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed accept.

For a few seconds there was only static.

Then breathing.

Weak breathing.

Painful breathing.

As though the caller was injured.

Finally, a voice emerged.

His voice.

“If you want to survive,” the voice whispered, “leave the apartment right now.”

The student's eyes widened.

“What?”

Before he could say anything else, a deafening explosion erupted from the building across the street. Glass shattered into the air. People screamed below. The shockwave slammed against his windows so violently that the entire room shook.

His body froze.

Outside, chaos exploded into life.

And through the static, his own voice whispered one final sentence.

“They found you.”

To be continued...