That morning felt different.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just… wrong.
I walked into class earlier than usual. The hallway was half-empty, lockers still closed, the air carrying that faint smell of cleaning products and old paper.
I stopped when I reached my desk.
It wasn't empty anymore.
There was a notebook on it.
Black cover. No name. No design. Just plain and still, like it had always been there.
I looked around.
No one was paying attention to me. A couple of students were talking near the window. Someone was laughing too loudly at something on their phone.
I sat down slowly.
The notebook didn't belong to me.
I didn't touch it at first. I just stared at it.
It felt stupid to be nervous about a notebook.
But something inside me told me this wasn't random.
After a few seconds, I opened it.
The first page was blank.
So was the second.
I flipped to the middle.
Blank.
My heartbeat slowed. Maybe it was just a mistake. Maybe someone left it here.
I was about to close it when I noticed something at the very last page.
There was writing.
Small. Careful. Almost hesitant.
I turned the page fully.
One sentence.
"You're not crazy."
My fingers froze.
The words didn't look rushed. They weren't messy. They were written like someone had taken their time.
Like someone wanted me to read it clearly.
I swallowed.
Not crazy?
About what?
I looked around again, this time slower.
Was someone watching me?
The class was filling up now. Chairs scraping. Bags dropping. Normal noise. Normal life.
But my chest felt tight.
Because I hadn't told anyone.
Not about the empty desk.
Not about the teacher who looked through me.
Not about how yesterday, for a moment, I could have sworn that my reflection in the bathroom mirror didn't move exactly when I did.
I hadn't told anyone.
So how could someone know?
I closed the notebook carefully and slid it inside my bag.
For the rest of the class, I couldn't focus.
Every time someone laughed, I wondered if it was about me.
Every time someone whispered, I felt like they were saying my name.
When the bell rang, I didn't move immediately.
I waited.
Watched.
No one came to ask about the notebook.
No one looked at me differently.
That almost made it worse.
At lunch, I sat alone like usual.
The cafeteria was loud. Trays hitting tables. Conversations overlapping. The smell of fried food heavy in the air.
I took the notebook out again.
My hands were slightly sweaty.
I flipped to the last page.
The sentence was still there.
You're not crazy.
I grabbed a pen from my pocket.
For a full minute, I just stared at the paper.
Then, slowly, I wrote underneath it.
Then what am I?
I didn't expect an answer.
I closed the notebook and pushed it away.
I told myself this was stupid. Maybe someone was playing a prank. Maybe this was all coincidence.
I stood up to throw my trash away.
When I came back…
The notebook was open.
My chair hadn't moved much.
My bag was still there.
But the notebook was open.
My stomach dropped.
I sat down slowly.
There, under my question, new words had appeared.
The ink looked fresh.
You're remembering.
My vision blurred for a second.
Remembering what?
I looked around quickly.
No one was near my table.
No one was looking at me.
And yet… someone had answered.
Or something.
My breathing became shallow.
This wasn't possible.
I had just left for less than a minute.
Unless—
Unless I hadn't.
A strange thought crossed my mind.
What if time wasn't moving the way I thought it was?
What if there were moments… missing?
I looked back at the words.
You're remembering.
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
Because deep inside—
I had a feeling I knew exactly what that meant.
And that scared me more than anything else.