The Woman Who Knew Tomorrow

The first time I saw her, she was standing in the rain outside the café, staring at me through the glass. Her coat was too thin for November, her eyes too old for her face.

She walked in, slid into my booth, and said: "Your sister’s name is Laila. She’ll call you in 47 seconds."

My phone rang at exactly 47. Laila’s name flashed.

The woman sipped my coffee like she’d ordered it. "Your boss will fire you at 3:15 PM. Don’t beg. It’ll make him angrier."

At 3:14, my manager called me into his office. By 3:17, I was unemployed.

I chased her down the street. "Who are you? How do you know these things?"

She turned, her voice hollow. "I know tomorrow. And yours is… different." Then she handed me a slip of paper with an address. "Midnight. Come alone."

The building was abandoned, the door unlocked. Inside, a single light swung over a table. On it: a newspaper.

Tomorrow’s headline: "LOCAL MAN FOUND DEAD IN RIVER."

My face stared back from the photo.

A creak behind me. The woman stood in the shadows, holding a knife—my kitchen knife.

"Wait!" I choked. "You knew this would happen! Why bring me here?"

She stepped into the light. For the first time, I saw the scars on her wrists. Identical to the ones I got last summer.

"Because," she said, "last time, you were the one holding the knife."

The lights went out.

The Message (Hidden in Suspense):

Some cycles can’t be broken by knowing the future—only by changing who you become in the present.