The Girl Who Remembered Her Future

When Amara turned 17, she began having vivid dreams of a future she couldn't possibly know—because it hadn’t happened yet.

In one, she stood at a grave with her name on it, dated just two weeks ahead.

In another, she saw herself in a burning house, screaming for help, but no one heard.

At first, her mother dismissed it as stress. “Everyone gets weird dreams,” she said. But Amara knew these weren’t dreams. They were warnings.

Then things got stranger.

She started predicting real events. A fire at her school. A car crash at a corner she’d never visited. A classmate who vanished—exactly like she saw it. Each time, she told someone. Each time, no one believed her.

Until it happened to her.

Two weeks after her first dream, she woke up in a coffin.

Breathless.

Alive.

Trapped.

Buried.

Panicking, Amara kicked and screamed—and suddenly felt hands pulling her out. Dirt flooded into her mouth as she gasped for air. She looked up, coughing and sobbing. Her younger brother stood over the dug-up grave, pale and shaking.

“I heard you in my dream,” he whispered.

That night, Amara demanded answers. Her mother cried. Her grandmother finally spoke: “You’re the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. You don’t remember your past lives, child… you remember the ones to come.”

Apparently, every seventh generation, one girl in the family inherited a “curse”—or gift—of memory beyond time. But the gift came at a cost: Those who saw the future would always face a terrible choice.

Amara had seen it all: betrayal, fire, death.

She was remembering not just her life—but every death she might have.

Every wrong path.

Every fatal mistake.

Every lie that led to doom.

And it was happening faster.

The dreams got more terrifying. Sometimes, she woke with blood on her hands. Once, she had a long scratch across her back—something she’d only dreamt of hours earlier.

Then came the night where she dreamt of killing someone.

A man in black. A figure who watched her in each version of the future. A face she never fully saw… until the night of the blood moon.

He showed up at her door. Just like the dream.

Her mother didn’t see him. Her brother didn’t hear the knocks.

Only Amara.

She ran.

She ran through time in her mind—seeing paths, choices, horrors, deaths.

And then she did something new:

She didn’t run forward. She ran backward.

Back to her very first memory.

Back to before the curse.

And she chose to forget.

Now, she lives quietly in a new town, with no memory of her past lives… or her future.

But sometimes—on stormy nights—she wakes up, whispering things she’s never heard before.

Things she’ll soon do.

Or already has.