“The Man Who Remembered Everyone’s Future”

Part 1: The Awakening

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on a park bench in a small, quiet town I had never seen before.

The sun was warm. Birds chirped. Children laughed in the distance. It was peaceful—eerily peaceful.

But the strangest part wasn’t the unfamiliar surroundings. It was the people. Every person who passed by smiled at me like I was a dear old friend. Some waved. A few called out:

“Welcome back, Elias!”

Elias. That was my name?

I didn’t remember arriving here. I didn’t remember anything—not my last memory, not my age, not even my own reflection. But the moment I made eye contact with someone, a sharp flash would strike through my mind.

It wasn’t pain. It was a vision.

A man sitting on a café terrace: I saw him collapsing ten years from now, heart attack.

A girl skipping down the street: I saw her sitting alone at a train station, crying, waiting for someone who would never come.

An old woman feeding pigeons: I saw her smile moments before her eyes closed forever in a hospital bed.

I wasn’t remembering their pasts. I was seeing their futures.

Part 2: The Warning

I tried to make sense of it. Maybe I was going insane.

That’s when I saw a little boy, no more than six, riding his bicycle too fast toward the street. A car was coming. I knew the outcome before it happened—I had seen it.

I ran.

“Hey! Stop him!” I shouted.

But the boy’s mother, standing nearby, simply smiled at me.

“We knew you’d try to save him,” she said calmly.

I froze.

The boy stopped just in time—on his own. The car passed. No accident. No tragedy.

My heart pounded in my chest.

“How… how did you know what I’d do?” I asked her.

“You’re starting to remember,” she said, her smile fading. “But too soon.”

Part 3: The Last Door

That night, I wandered until I found a street with no name. At the end stood a crooked house with a rusted sign:

The Last Door.

I knocked. No answer. But the door creaked open.

Inside, the house was empty—except for a single table, and a letter sitting on it. The envelope was addressed to me:

To Elias. From Elias.

My hands trembled as I opened it.

“If you're reading this, you’ve begun to remember. Good. But not too much, not too fast. You came here for a reason. To forget. To heal. To escape the pain. But memory is cruel.

If you continue, you will remember her. And if you do… you’ll lose her all over again.

Turn back now. Or keep going, and face the truth.”

Part 4: Her

I didn’t turn back.

I searched through the town. Faces began to feel familiar. I remembered voices. Laughter. A hand holding mine.

And finally, her—a woman with dark eyes and a voice like a lullaby.

Her name was Amara.

She wasn’t in the town. But I remembered the accident. The scream. The cold hospital. The moment the machine flatlined.

She had died. I couldn’t save her.

That was the pain I had tried to forget. That’s why I had come here—to this construct, this false town built inside my mind. I had been part of a consciousness experiment, testing memory extraction after trauma. I had chosen to live in a mental simulation, surrounded by AI fragments of people I once knew—or invented.

But something had gone wrong.

I was remembering.

Part 5: The Choice

I returned to “The Last Door.”

The letter was gone.

In its place stood a mirror. For the first time, I saw myself.

A man in his thirties. Tired eyes. Worn face. A wedding ring.

And behind me in the reflection… a little girl.

She looked just like Amara.

“You don’t remember me yet,” she whispered. “But you will.”