Waking up in the wrong time period.

I woke up with a start, my mind disoriented and my body feeling strange. The walls around me were unfamiliar, a strange mix of old stone and modern-day technology. My breath came in shallow gasps as I pushed myself up from the bed, glancing around. Was this a dream? No. It couldn’t be. The air smelled different—heavier, older, and yet there was something oddly familiar about it.

I quickly looked for a clock and my eyes landed on the small, dusty vintage one on the bedside table. It was stuck at 7:30, but the year read 1856. My heart raced. I must be dreaming, I told myself, shaking my head and pinching my arm, hoping for some sign of reality. But it didn’t stop. This wasn’t a dream. This was real. I was in the wrong time period.

How did this happen? I could still recall falling asleep in my apartment, the comfort of my modern life, my phone by my side. I’d been scrolling through the news, sipping on some tea. But now, I was in a room lit by flickering candles, dressed in strange, old-fashioned clothes—a long, heavy dress that weighed down my movements. My phone, the lifeline to the modern world, was nowhere to be found.

Panicked, I stumbled to the window and pulled the heavy curtains aside. Outside, the world looked so different—horse-drawn carriages trundling along dirt roads, people wearing old-fashioned garb. No cars. No buses. No skyscrapers. Just an endless stretch of small cottages, a few buildings with chimneys, and fields beyond that stretched under a cloudy sky. The city I once knew was gone, replaced by a simpler, slower time. It was beautiful in a way, but it felt alien, as though I had stepped into the pages of a history book, a century and a half behind.

Was I stuck here? How did this happen? My mind raced with questions, and I felt my panic deepening. I knew I needed to figure this out, but where would I even begin? This was not my world. I had no idea how people lived in 1856. The customs, the manners, the simple details of daily life—how would I navigate all of that?

The door to the room creaked open, and a woman stepped inside. She looked at me with a curious expression, her eyes widening when she saw the panic on my face.

“You look ill, miss,” she said in a soft voice, speaking with an accent I couldn't quite place.

“I… I don’t know where I am,” I stammered, my voice shaky. “What is this place? What time is it?”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled, but didn’t ask more questions. “This is the year 1856, miss,” she answered gently. “You’ve been ill for some time, and we’ve been taking care of you. Do you not remember?”

I shook my head, unable to make sense of her words. She must have been referring to some illness that had kept me bedridden, but I had no memory of it. “I… I was just at home. How did I get here?”

The woman took a step closer, her eyes full of sympathy. “You must have been delirious from the fever,” she said, touching my forehead gently. “Rest now, and you’ll be fine.”

I didn’t have the energy to argue, so I let her guide me back to the bed, my thoughts swirling. Fever? A sickness? But how did I end up in the 1800s?

In the days that followed, I tried to learn as much as I could. The woman, whose name was Alice, told me that I had been found unconscious by the side of the road, near a small village. They had taken me in, offering care, and now I was part of their community. But the more I listened, the more I realized how little I truly knew about living in this time period. No smartphones, no internet, no electricity. I had to get used to using a candle to light my room at night, and instead of the comfort of a car ride, I walked everywhere.

I was struck by how different life was. Conversations happened face-to-face, not through text messages. Food was cooked from scratch—no fast food chains, no microwaves. People talked about the news in person, passing along rumors and gossip rather than scrolling through social media. I had to learn how to wash clothes by hand, fetch water from the emotions, and make do with what I had.

The people here were kind, but I felt like an outsider. Every conversation felt like a puzzle I couldn’t solve. I tried my best to adapt, learning what I could from Alice and others, but I constantly felt as I didn’t belong. There was no going back. I couldn’t just pick up my phone and call for help, nor could I find a way to return to my time.

As time went on, the reality of my situation began to sink in. I would have to live in this time now, making of it. Perhaps the hardest part was the loneliness. I could never go back to the world I knew, the people I loved, or the comfort of my old life.

But life continued on in this strange, new world. And with every passing day, I grew a little more accustomed to it—learning to embrace the old-fashioned ways and finding peace in a simpler time.