The Boy Who Borrowed a Yesterday

When I woke up this morning, someone had stolen my today.

I don’t mean I overslept or forgot something.

I mean my calendar, my phone, even the newspaper said yesterday’s date.

And the strangest part?

Everyone else acted like that was normal.

My sister walked into my room and said, Did you finish yesterday’s homework?

I blinked at her. Yesterday already happened.

She frowned. Umar, are you okay? Yesterday is today.

That’s when my brain officially crashed.

A Knock at the Door

Around noon, someone knocked on my door.

It was a boy maybe twelve wearing a red hoodie and holding a tiny wooden box.

He looked like he had broken several universal laws before breakfast.

“You’re missing a day,” he said cheerfully, as if informing me that my shirt was inside out.

I stared. How do you know?

He shrugged. “Because I borrowed it.”

Borrowed?

Who borrows an entire day from someone else?

You stole me today? I whispered.

Yes. I needed it. For practice.

For what? Basketball?

For being older.

Before I could respond, he snapped his fingers.

And he became me.

My height.

My hair.

My clothes.

My face.

Even my annoying eyebrow.

“I’ll return your day after I’m finished,” he said, using my voice perfectly.

“Finished WHAT?” I yelled.

“Living your life. Just for one day.”

Then he bolted out the door.

Chasing the Impossible

I ran after him through the street.

But every time I got close, time rewound like a video glitch.

Cars drove backward.

Birds flapped in reverse.

People walked in rewind.

My shoelaces tied themselves.

Reality collapsed like a cheap foldable table.

I finally cornered him at the park, facing a faster, smarter version of myself.

“You can’t live my day!” I shouted.

He tilted his head. “Why not? You weren’t going to use it.”

My anger paused. What do you mean?

He tapped my forehead. “Your days are all the same.”

Wake up.

Scroll.

Work.

Eat.

Scroll again.

Sleep.

“No adventure. No fun. No dreams. Just survival.”

For a twelve-year-old, he spoke like a retired motivational speaker.

His Explanation

He sat on a park bench, my bench, my posture, my seriousness.

“I borrowed yours today,” he said, “because adults waste more days than they live.”

He opened the wooden box.

Inside was a glowing sphere small, warm, alive, pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Your day,” he said. “Still unused.”

I wanted to argue, but he wasn’t wrong.

My days had been blur after blur, routine after routine.

“So you stole it… to teach me a lesson?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“No. I took it because I wanted to experience a real day. You weren’t going to use it anyway.”

Ouch.

Even magical children hurt your feelings.

The Return of My Day

He placed the glowing ball in my hands.

Instantly, the world clicked back into place:

Shadows corrected.

Birds flew normally.

Cars moved forward.

My phone buzzed with the actual date.

When I looked up, the boy was gone.

But he left a small note inside the box:

“Don’t lose your days. Someone else might live them better than you.”

I sat on the bench for a long time, feeling the weight of a single day like it was the heaviest gift in the universe.

What I Did After That

For the first time in months, I didn’t drown my morning in meaningless scrolling.

I went outside.

I watched the sunrise.

Bought breakfast from a place I always passed but never tried.

I talked to a stranger who ended up giving me a job idea.

Wrote a story I had been postponing.

Skipped work (don’t judge).

Visited an old friend.

Laughed at stupid things.

And felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time:

Alive. Truly alive.

Because the boy was right.

Most people don’t lose their days to magic.

They lose them to routine.

And I had been losing mine for years.

Not anymore.

Maybe time travel isn’t about going backward or forward maybe it’s simply about choosing to live the day you already have.