When Tomorrow Looked Back!!

Time travel did not exist in science fiction in 2149. It was kept secret. Dr. Elara Voss stood alone in the observation chamber, watching the prototype hum with a low, resonant pulse. The machine was crude, with glowing conduits, coils, and a central seat that looked like it had been redesigned by a madman to look like a dentist's chair. But it worked. Or at least it once did. That first jump sent a rat two minutes into the future. The rat endured. A drone was launched ten years ahead by the second jump. It never came back.

Now, it was her turn.

Elara had spent her life designing the ChronoGate under the watchful eye of the Global Science Directorate. The GSD wanted monitored missions and controlled jumps. However, Elara had other ideas. In 2118, a failed experiment had led to the disappearance of her father, also a scientist. According to official records, a lab accident occurred. She believed otherwise.

She would discover the truth today. Her voice was heard in the room as she said, "Confirming coordinates." The date of departure is February 3, 2118. Location: NovaTech Research Lab.”

The gate flared open, a spiral of light folding inward like a collapsing star. Elara stepped in.

Then everything shattered.

She stumbled into a different world.

The lab was intact, alive with activity. Scientists in lab coats hovered around screens. A younger version of herself—six years old—sat in a corner, drawing stars with a crayon. But none of them saw her. She was trapped outside of time as a ghost. Then she saw him. Her father, Dr. Kael Voss, was arguing with a technician beside a swirling orb of energy. He appeared to be worn out, older than in the pictures, but still very much alive. “…It’s not stable, Kael!” The technician gave a warning. “I know that,” her father snapped. “But if we delay, the Directive will shut us down. They’re afraid of what we’ll find.”

“Or what we’ll change.”

Elara gasped for air. She attempted to yell, but the words vanished like mist. She wasn’t really here—just an observer.

The experiment suddenly spiraled out of control. The alarms went off. The orb grew larger. Energy lashed out in chaotic waves. The technicians fled. Her father stayed.

He then turned around. He looked straight at her.

“Elara?” He said nothing, his eyes wide. She froze. He shouldn’t be able to see her.

He stepped into the raging storm and said softly, "You made it." “I knew you would.”

Behind him, the machine shattered a vortex. Without hesitation, he stepped through.

Elara screamed. Not in fear. In understanding.

He wasn't dead. He’d jumped—voluntarily. Where, then? The vision unraveled, and she was yanked back into the ChronoGate chamber, gasping.

Time had changed.

The lab’s walls were now lined with photos—photos of her and her father standing side by side at conferences, scientific breakthroughs, Nobel prizes.

She checked the date: April 14, 2149. But in this timeline, her father hadn’t vanished. Together, they had changed history. A note lay on the console, in his handwriting:

"Time, Elara, is not a line. It is a concerto. And now, we play it together. Soon, see you." Her eyes welled with tears. He had seen her. And now, the past and future were no longer lost—they were just waiting to be found.