Can I Tell You About…

I had not planned to die that day.

But fate or something deviously disguising itself as coincidence, had other plans.

It was an ordinary Tuesday. A traffic signal blinked amber at the corner of Manoush Street. My coffee cup was empty, and I started cursing myself for forgetting my umbrella.

I turned the corner to the underground bookstore that I'd discovered just last week. A tiny store that didn't appear on Google Maps. That ought to have been the first red flag.

I went in. The air was thick with the scent of rain on damp paper and something else. Older. Muskier. Like forgotten languages and candle wax. There was an old man behind the counter, a lapel pin in the form of a black cube on his corduroy jacket.

He didn't speak. Just nodded. Almost as if he'd been expecting me.

"Anything you recommend?" I asked, shaking water droplets from my coat.

He didn't move, but a book fell off the shelf behind me with a soft thud. I turned to pick it up.

The book's title was:

"You Already Know How This Ends."

I opened it.

The pages were filled with handwritten diary entries, but they were mine. In my handwriting. With dates of next week, and next year, and one twenty three years into the future.

I flipped the pages faster. My hands shaking.

One entry read:

March 25, 2025: You'll begin to question everything today. Not because of what you see, but because of what sees you. Don't look too long in the mirror after dark."

What. The. Hell.

Another entry said:

"You're not who you think you are. You're the dreamer and the dreamed."

I closed the book.

The store was suddenly silent. Too silent. The urban noise and hum outside was gone. I turned back to see what kind of game the old man was playing at .

He wasn't there.

Neither was the counter.

Neither were the walls.

The bookstore no longer existed.

I was standing in the middle of an alley, holding a book that wasn't in my hand.

In its place was a note, folded, in the same handwriting:

"This was the test. You woke up. Most don't. You'll start seeing them now. The ones who aren't really people."

I saw her then.

A woman across the street, standing too still. Blinking too slowly. A smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

She looked at me like she knew what I knew.

So, can I tell you about the day that changed my perception of reality?

Because once you start asking what’s real,

Reality starts asking the same about you.