For three months, I had been working in this strange little cafe in Seattle. An inconspicuous shop, hidden in an alley, that most people overlooked. Only a few regulars came consistently.
What confused me: Every guest ordered exactly the same thing, every day, at the same time. Mr. Peterson, 7:15 AM, black coffee, two sugars. Mrs. Rodriguez, 2:30 PM, green tea with honey. The man in the gray suit, every evening at 9:45 PM, espresso.
Today was different. An elderly woman entered the cafe at midnight. Her eyes were milky white. “It’s time,” she said and handed me an old pocket watch.
“Time for what?” I asked, confused.
“Look closely,” she answered. “Every guest here is trapped in a time loop. Mr. Peterson died 20 years ago in a car accident on his way to work. Mrs. Rodriguez disappeared without a trace in 1985. The man in the gray suit… that’s you, in 40 years.”
The pocket watch in my hand ticked backward. When I looked up, the woman was gone. On the table lay a note: “You have the power to save one of them. But choose wisely – every change to the past has its price.”
I studied the watch carefully. It had three hands, each pointing to a different guest’s photo. The next morning, I made my choice. When Mr. Peterson came in, I deliberately spilled his coffee, causing him to miss his usual train – the one that would have led to his fatal accident.
The world shifted. The cafe disappeared. I found myself in a new reality, where Mr. Peterson was alive, now an old man with grandchildren. But Mrs. Rodriguez and the man in the gray suit were gone, as if they had never existed.
In my pocket, I found the watch, now with only two photos remaining. Sometimes, late at night, I wonder if I made the right choice.
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