Puzzle Pieces from the Future

It all began on an otherwise forgettable Thursday morning, when the first piece arrived.
A small, glossy fragment of something larger — not quite cardboard, not quite plastic — slipped through the mail slot of Mina’s studio apartment. On its face, a swirling pattern of metallic blue and silver lines coiled around a single letter: "R."

No sender, no note. Just that.

Mina, who worked nights cataloging historical artifacts at the city museum, was used to the forgotten things of the past. But something about this fragment felt unsettling, almost alive — as if it had been waiting for her. She turned it over in her palm, tracing the edges, and for a fleeting moment, the fragment felt warm. Then, nothing.

She shrugged, set it aside on her cluttered coffee table, and thought no more of it — until the second piece arrived three days later.

This time, it came wrapped in an unmarked envelope. A fragment nearly identical in size and shape, but bearing the letter "A." The design shimmered in the light, almost shifting as she moved it, lines connecting in a way that suggested they belonged together.

With hesitant curiosity, Mina brought the two pieces close. They clicked together perfectly, forming a larger shard of what was now clearly a puzzle. But a puzzle of what? And why her?


---

That night, Mina couldn't sleep. The shadows of her small apartment stretched long and strange, whispering secrets she couldn’t quite hear. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes: dark skies streaked with fire, towers collapsing, and the same swirling blue lines forming symbols she couldn’t understand.

In the morning, there was a knock at her door.

Mina opened it to find a man in his forties, dressed in a charcoal suit. He held no badge, no introduction. His voice was calm, but carried an edge like sharpened glass.

“Miss Talbot,” he said, “have you received anything... unusual in the past week?”

Mina hesitated. “No,” she lied.

His gaze lingered, searching. “If you do, contact us immediately. For your own safety.” He handed her a plain white card. No name, just a phone number.

Before she could ask anything, he turned and walked away, leaving Mina with more questions than answers.


---

Days turned into weeks, and more fragments kept coming.

They never arrived the same way twice: once taped under her mailbox, once hidden in a folded grocery flyer, once balanced on the seat of the night bus she always took home. Each piece bore a single letter, and each time, the swirling lines expanded, revealing an intricate, almost organic pattern that felt like veins of energy.

As the puzzle grew, so did the visions.

Mina began seeing glimpses of a city not yet built, people she had never met but somehow knew, and events that felt like memories of tomorrow. In every vision, the puzzle itself hovered, whole and radiant, pulsing with an otherworldly glow.

It terrified her — and yet, she couldn't stop collecting.


---

One rainy evening, unable to contain her fear and curiosity, Mina called the number on the card. The same man answered. His voice was softer this time.

“Miss Talbot, it’s important you don’t complete the puzzle. It isn’t meant to exist in this time.”

“What is it?” she whispered.

“A message,” he said. “A warning. But knowing it now would change everything — and not for the better.”

“But why me?” she demanded.

A pause. Then, quietly: “Because you’re the only one who can hear what it says.”


---

That night, Mina laid out the pieces on her living room floor. The swirling lines converged toward a single center point, an empty space waiting for the final piece. The letters formed a word, though some were still missing. She could almost read it.

As if drawn by something beyond choice, she found herself at her window. Across the street, under the glow of a flickering streetlamp, lay a small black envelope.

She raced outside, the rain soaking through her clothes, heart pounding as she tore it open. Inside, the final fragment. The missing letter: "K."


---

Back in her apartment, hands trembling, Mina placed the last piece. The puzzle shuddered, and for an instant, the air felt electric.

The letters now read "BREAK" — and the completed puzzle hummed with a strange, pulsing warmth.

Mina gasped as the visions flooded back, clearer than ever: fires, floods, and something breaking — not a thing, but time itself. And a voice, deep and sorrowful, whispered inside her mind:

“Break the cycle. Before it breaks everything.”


---

Before Mina could process what it meant, the puzzle dissolved into blue light, scattering into the air like fireflies. And in that brief moment, she understood: it wasn’t just a message; it was a choice. A chance to warn the future by risking the present.

The next morning, Mina’s apartment was empty. No puzzle, no letters, nothing but the faint scent of ozone and a single scrap of paper on the floor.

It read, in her own handwriting — though she had no memory of writing it:
“Some pieces are meant to be lost.”

And somewhere, far ahead in the river of time, something changed.


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