The day that stretched on forever
The day that stretched on forever.
It began as any other day.
Ethan woke up to the shrill beeping of his alarm clock, groggily rolling over to silence it. The numbers on the screen read **7:00 AM**, the same as always. With a yawn, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stretched. Outside, the world was bathed in soft golden light, birds chirping merrily in the crisp morning air.
A normal day.
Or so he thought.
As Ethan trudged through his morning routine—brushing his teeth, making coffee, scrolling through his phone—he couldn't shake the odd sensation that something felt... off. Time seemed slower somehow, each second dragging like a weight on his shoulders. His coffee machine took an eternity to brew, and even as he sipped his steaming cup, the warmth spread through him sluggishly, as if reluctant to do its job.
He glanced at the clock. **7:30 AM.**
Strange. It felt like he'd been awake for hours already. Shrugging it off, he got dressed and headed to work, driving through streets that felt eerily quiet. The usual honks, the rush of cars, the hurried pedestrians—they were all there, yet something about their movements seemed sluggish, like a film playing in slow motion.
At the office, things got even weirder.
Ethan sat at his desk, powered on his computer, and dove into his emails. He typed, clicked, scrolled—mechanical actions he performed daily. Yet when he glanced at the clock again, it still read **7:30 AM**.
His breath hitched.
That was impossible.
He tapped his watch. **7:30 AM.**
His phone? **7:30 AM.**
A shiver crept down his spine. He turned to his coworker, Mark, who was hunched over his own desk, yawning.
"Hey, Mark, do you feel like time is moving... weirdly today?"
Mark blinked at him, rubbed his eyes, and looked at his computer screen. "Huh? Nah, man. It’s just a Monday."
Ethan checked his clock again. Still **7:30 AM**.
Panic bloomed in his chest. He clicked his pen, tapped his desk, drummed his fingers against his thigh. The seconds crawled by, the day stretching like an elastic band that refused to snap.
He tried distracting himself. He wrote reports, made coffee, scrolled through his phone again. Yet no matter how much he did, the time refused to move.
**7:30 AM.**
The office air felt thicker, heavier. The chatter of coworkers dimmed into a distant hum. The fluorescent lights flickered. Every movement, every breath, every blink took an eternity.
By noon—though his clock still insisted it was **7:30 AM**—Ethan had lost all sense of reality. His coworkers continued as if nothing was wrong, laughing at jokes, making sales calls, scheduling meetings that never arrived.
Desperate for an escape, Ethan left his desk and rushed outside. The sun still hung low on the horizon, frozen in time. The world outside was no better—cars moved at a snail’s pace, a bird flapped its wings midair but never went anywhere. He waved his hands in front of a passerby. They blinked slowly, as if struggling to complete the motion.
A nightmare. He was trapped in a nightmare.
Ethan sprinted home, heart pounding. Maybe if he slept, time would fix itself. Maybe he’d wake up and it would be the next day, normal again. He threw himself onto his bed, squeezed his eyes shut, and willed himself to sleep.
But sleep never came.
Minutes stretched into hours—or what should have been hours. The weight of unchanging time pressed down on him like a lead blanket. He turned over. Checked his phone. **7:30 AM.**
He screamed.
Days passed, or perhaps they didn’t. He no longer knew. He stopped going to work. Stopped eating. Stopped everything. And yet, the time refused to budge. The world remained in an endless loop, replaying the same second over and over.
And then—just as his sanity frayed at the edges—his phone vibrated. A notification.
**"The loop is almost over. Prepare for the reset."**
His breath hitched. Who had sent that? How did they know?
Before he could react, the world flickered. The colors inverted, the sky turned black, the air buzzed like static. Ethan clutched his head as the ground beneath him split open, light pouring through the cracks. His body felt like it was being pulled in every direction at once.
And then—
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Ethan's eyes snapped open. His alarm clock blared beside him.
He turned his head, heart hammering.
**7:00 AM.**
The birds chirped. The golden sunlight streamed through his window. Everything was back to normal.
Or so he thought.
Because when he looked at his phone, there was still one unread notification:
"See you again tomorrow."
About the Creator
Badhan Sen
Myself Badhan, I am a professional writer.I like to share some stories with my friends.
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The slow march of time in an empty room
The clock ticks. A soft, rhythmic sound, barely perceptible, yet insistent in its presence. Each second dissolves into the next, marking the slow and steady march of time in an empty room. There is no rush, no urgency, just the measured passage of existence itself.
By Badhan Sen11 months ago in Motivation
“He Kept Going When No One Was Watching — And That Changed Everything”
No one ever noticed the days he almost gave up. There were no messages asking if he was okay. No one wondered why he became quieter. No one asked how much effort it took just to keep going. To the world, he was just another ordinary man. His name was Ayaan. Ayaan’s life didn’t collapse in one dramatic moment. It slowly faded. Missed opportunities. Rejected ideas. Silent disappointments. Every failure was small, but together they became heavy. He had dreams once. Big ones. Dreams that kept him awake at night, imagining a future where his hard work would finally matter. But over time, those dreams began to feel unrealistic—almost embarrassing. People around him seemed to move forward effortlessly. They celebrated promotions, achievements, and milestones. Ayaan watched from the side, smiling politely while feeling invisible. At work, his efforts were ignored. Among friends, his voice faded. At home, expectations weighed heavily on him. Slowly, a dangerous thought settled into his mind: “Maybe I’m not good enough.” That thought followed him everywhere. It followed him on crowded buses. It followed him into sleepless nights. It followed him every time he tried again and failed. One night, after scrolling through endless success stories online, Ayaan closed his phone and stared at the dark ceiling. His chest felt tight, not because of pain—but because of exhaustion. He whispered quietly, “How long do I keep trying?” There was no answer. But that night, Ayaan made a decision—not a loud one, not a confident one. A tired decision. He decided to keep going, even if nothing changed. The next morning felt the same. The same routine. The same doubts. The same fear of wasting his life. But Ayaan showed up anyway. He worked when no one praised him. He studied when no one guided him. He practiced when no one believed in him. Some days, motivation disappeared completely. On those days, discipline took over. He reminded himself: “I don’t need applause. I need progress.” Weeks passed. Nothing dramatic happened. No sudden success. No recognition. No miracle. But something subtle began to shift. Ayaan became calmer under pressure. He learned to sit with discomfort instead of running from it. He stopped comparing his journey to others. The silence that once scared him now became his training ground. Months later, a serious problem appeared at his workplace. It was complicated, risky, and easy to blame on someone else. Most people avoided it. Some pretended it wasn’t their responsibility. Ayaan didn’t announce himself. He didn’t seek attention. He simply started working. Late nights. Mistakes. Corrections. Learning. There were moments he wanted to quit. Moments when fear whispered, “You’re not ready.” But he answered back, “I’ll learn.” Slowly, the problem began to disappear. Not perfectly—but steadily. People noticed, quietly. One afternoon, his manager called him into the office. Ayaan expected criticism. Instead, he heard a question that stunned him: “Where did you learn all this?” Ayaan paused. How could he explain years of silent effort? How could he explain working when no one cared? He simply replied, “I kept going.” That moment didn’t change his life overnight. He didn’t become famous. He didn’t suddenly become successful. But it changed something far more important. His belief in himself. For the first time, Ayaan understood that life doesn’t always reward effort immediately. Sometimes, it watches. It watches who continues without praise. Who improves without recognition. Who grows in silence. Years later, Ayaan looked back at the version of himself who almost quit. The man who felt invisible. The man who thought no one was watching. And he smiled. Because he finally understood the truth: Life was always watching. Not to judge. Not to rush. But to see if he would keep going when it was hardest. The world doesn’t reward those who only work when they’re seen. It rewards those who build strength in silence. And sometimes, the moment that changes everything doesn’t come with applause. It comes quietly. After patience. After effort. After consistency. That is when everything finally begins to change. Final Message Keep going—even when no one is watching. Especially then.
By Inayat khan3 days ago in Motivation
Comments (1)
This story is kind of weird and creepy. Good job.