The Missed Call That Saved My Life

It started with a single missed call at 1:13 AM.

No name. No voicemail. Just silence.

The number looked familiar, but not enough to trust. So I ignored it.

I couldn’t sleep after that. I kept checking my phone. It never rang again.

The next morning, I left the house in a fog. My favorite coffee shop — closed.

The subway train — stuck underground for 20 minutes.

The sky — gray and heavy, and I had forgotten my umbrella.

Everything felt... off.

But then it happened.

While waiting for the rain to ease, I ducked into a small bookstore I’d never noticed before. I walked past rows of dusty shelves and turned into a corner — and there she was.

A woman, sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading a worn copy of “The Midnight Library.”

The same book I dreamed about two nights ago.

She looked up. We locked eyes.

“Strange,” she smiled. “It feels like we’ve met before.”

I felt the same.

We talked. About books. About dreams. About that unshakable feeling of being in the wrong timeline.

She told me she believed in signs. In missed moments that save you, not break you.

I mentioned the call.

She went pale.

“Was it this number?” she asked, showing her phone.

Same digits. Same time.

“I was trying to warn someone,” she said quietly. “I had this terrible feeling in my gut last night. Like someone I didn’t know yet... was about to make the wrong decision.”

I didn’t believe in fate. Not until that moment.

Final Thoughts / Moral:

Some missed calls are more than they seem.

They’re not mistakes.

They’re signals — nudges from the universe, rerouting you back toward something you were meant to feel, learn, or love.

Had I answered that call, maybe none of this would’ve happened.

But ignoring it… brought me exactly where I needed to be.