The Girl Who Texted From the Future

It was 11:47 PM when Arham’s phone buzzed.

The sound cut sharply through the quiet of his apartment. He had been lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the usual worries of life—deadlines, responsibilities, the strange emptiness that had been following him for months.

He almost ignored the notification.

Unknown Number.

He frowned.

Who texts at this hour?

He unlocked his phone.

“Don’t take the 8:15 train tomorrow.”

He stared at the message, confused.

Wrong number?

A prank?

He typed back.

“Who is this?”

The reply came instantly.

“Someone who already lost you once.”

A strange chill ran down his spine.

Lost him?

He sat up in bed now, suddenly alert. He checked the number again. No profile photo. No status. Nothing identifiable. Just a blank presence.

He tried calling.

Switched off.

A nervous laugh escaped him. “People are weird,” he muttered, placing the phone back on the table.

But sleep never came.

At exactly 7:03 AM, his phone buzzed again.

“You won’t listen. You never do.”

His heartbeat quickened.

“Listen to what?”

Three dots appeared on the screen.

Then:

“8:15 AM. Platform 3. Mechanical failure. Last compartment.”

His blood ran cold.

That was his train.

The one he had taken every weekday for the past three years.

He immediately opened the news. Nothing unusual. No alerts. No warnings.

Still, the precision of the message unsettled him.

He checked the time.

7:40 AM.

He had twenty minutes to decide whether to believe a stranger… or dismiss it as madness.

At 8:05 AM, Arham stood on Platform 3.

The familiar scent of metal and morning coffee filled the air. Commuters crowded around him, scrolling through phones, adjusting bags, lost in their routines.

His phone buzzed again.

“Please. I’m begging you this time.”

This time?

His chest tightened.

Why did that sentence feel personal?

Why did it feel like regret?

The train headlights appeared in the distance.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

Another message arrived.

“I couldn’t save you before.”

Before.

The word echoed in his mind.

Something stirred deep inside him—a memory that wasn’t a memory. A grief he didn’t understand. A feeling of being held while fading away.

The train roared closer.

Doors aligned.

People pushed forward.

He took one step toward the entrance.

Then stopped.

He stepped back.

Just one step away from boarding the last compartment.

The doors shut.

The train pulled forward.

And then—

A deafening metallic crack split the air.

Screams erupted.

The last compartment jerked violently, lifting off the rails before crashing sideways.

People ran.

Smoke filled the platform.

Arham stood frozen.

His breathing became shallow.

His phone vibrated again.

“This time, you survived.”

His hands trembled.

“Who are you?” he typed.

The response didn’t come immediately.

For the first time, the silence felt heavy.

Finally:

“In another timeline… I was your wife.”

The world around him seemed to blur.

Wife?

He should have laughed. He should have dismissed it as cruel insanity.

But he didn’t.

Because his chest hurt.

Because his eyes stung.

Because for reasons he couldn’t explain, he felt like he had lost someone.

Another message appeared.

“You died in my arms. I watched the light leave your eyes. I swore I would find a way to change it.”

A tear rolled down his cheek.

He didn’t understand why he was crying for a story that wasn’t his.

Or maybe… it was.

That evening, he sat alone in his apartment, staring at the chat.

His phone buzzed one final time.

“Changing time has consequences. I won’t remember you after this. Saving you costs me everything.”

His heart pounded.

“Wait. Tell me your name.”

There was a long pause.

Long enough for fear to settle in.

Then:

“Aiza.”

The screen flickered.

The chat vanished.

The number disappeared.

As if it had never existed.

Arham searched his call log.

Nothing.

He checked his messages.

Empty.

But something remained.

A feeling.

Like loving someone he had never met.

Three months later, rain poured heavily over the city.

Arham ducked into a quiet bookstore to escape the storm. The warm golden lights between tall shelves gave the place a peaceful glow.

As he shook the rain from his jacket, he saw her.

A girl standing near the poetry section.

Her fingers traced the spine of a book absentmindedly.

She turned.

Their eyes met.

And the world seemed to pause.

His heart reacted before his mind did.

She looked at him with mild curiosity. Polite. Calm.

No recognition.

No memory.

But something flickered behind her eyes.

She gave a small smile.

“Sorry… do I know you?”

His throat felt dry.

Maybe she didn’t remember.

Maybe she never would.

But somehow… it didn’t matter.

He smiled softly.

“Not yet.”

And somewhere, beyond time and broken timelines—

Love began again.