The Year That Wasn’t

I was still inside the bathroom when I froze. I stared at the date showing on my cell phone. It felt like time was running loose between my shaking hands.

"Does that mean I time-traveled? If so. how do I go back?" I thought, racing in my mind a million miles an hour. There had to be some kind of mistake. But the date was there, staring back at me, undeniable: February 9th, 2026. One whole year had passed.

I took a deep breath and tried to keep the panic at bay, welling up into my chest. But no matter how hard I tried to make sense of it, nothing did. How could I have lost an entire year of my life? How was I supposed to have forgotten everything? My heart pounded in my chest as it all crushed in on me.

I had to go back to class. Maybe playing would make it all seem just the same, somehow sort it out. I came into this classroom The air was heavy, nothing was as it used to be around me. I'd sunk onto my seat, which sat quietly in the back by the window, praying nobody would look in my direction.

The math class was going at a full pace, no break: simple algebra-nothing special, the same old drill. Somehow, though, the room was different; my classmates were different. They were seated on the desks-those same people with whom I'd had class for months-and now felt like strangers.

I looked to my left at the guys sitting next to me-my friends. I wanted to say something, to ask them if they remembered me, to see if they noticed that anything had changed. But when I whispered to them, they didn't even look at me. They just stared straight ahead, ignoring me like I wasn't even there. I tried again, this time raising my voice just a little, but it was the same. They looked at me with confused expressions and then turned away, resuming their work as if I'd never spoken a word.

"What the hell?" I thought, my mind racing. Just days ago, we were inseparable. What could have happened in that year I had supposedly missed? I couldn't comprehend. What had I done wrong?

It was frustration that rose in my chest-a sudden, sharp pang-but, not frustration: anger. How could they just ignore me like that? What had changed? And why didn't I remember any of it? What had happened to me in the last year?

But then, to my relief, there was one person who didn't act like I was a ghost. Raphael, my best friend, sat in front of me. I turned to him, a sense of hope flickering in my chest. I needed someone to act like everything was normal, to prove that I wasn't losing my mind.

He replied as usual when I spoke with him. His voice was unchanged, his expression calm and so familiar. "Hey, Raphael," I said, trying not to let anxiety seep into my voice.

His reply came effortlessly: "Hey, man," he didn't even look at me twice, like all was well in the world. A small sigh of relief escaped my lips. For that brief moment, everything felt normal once again. That little comfort somehow made me believe that I was not completely alienated in this weird new reality.

The rest of the day was a blur. Then, of course, there was the uneventful break, after which came History and Geography—two subjects combined as one due to the shortage of teachers. It wasn't my favorite because of the subject themselves, but because of Ms. Krans, the teacher. Unique in the way she was in teaching. She, instead of giving us textbooks and assignments, made us go into independent research. Some students hated it and would complain about how hard it was, but I always enjoyed it. There is something satisfying about learning things on your own, uncovering new information rather than just memorizing facts. Raphael also liked it, which made the class bearable.

After History and Geography, it was time for the Arabic class, which, I must confess, I despised. Indeed I did, from the deepest part of my being. What everybody hated and cursed was this subject called Arabic grammar, اعراب, that seemed like some sort of infinite labyrinth where confusing rules abide. It came to an end at last; although for short reprieve.

But then it was time for Hebrew class. I groaned inwardly. I sucked at Hebrew. The words seemed to curl and bounce all over the page; I could hardly manage to string a sentence together. Give me a first-grade question, and I was bound to get it wrong. What's worse, the others seemed to be so much better than me. I always felt so ashamed when we did any kind of exercise.

The last class of the day was physical education. Of all my subjects, this was the only one I looked forward to. It was my only forte, and it relieved me from all mental torture. This was the only class wherein I never had to feel that I would lag behind, and due to exercise, it made me feel alive as if all confusion and anxiety could be left behind for some time.

Finally, to conclude the day, we had English. Honestly, it was the most boring class. Everything was so basic: just solving workbook pages over and over again. It didn't challenge me in the least bit, neither did the teacher. I just spaced out, more often than not, glancing at the clock, waiting for the ringing of the bell.

But it wasn't until the end of class that it hit me. Something I hadn't even thought about. Wait a minute., I thought. I am not in 7th grade anymore.

I wasn't in 7th grade. I was in 8th grade.

It hit me, and for one second, the floor was pulled from beneath me. Time traveling hadn't just changed the year; it had rearranged everything: I was up an entire grade. A year of my life had just. gone. That brought up some real questions. Does this mean I'm a genius?

I couldn't help but nervously chuckle, for it made no sense. But, it was me in that position-the body of a 7th grader when I was already in 8th grade.

The final bell rang, and I gathered up my things and headed out the door, still trying to process everything that had happened. But as I walked through the school gates, something caught my eye. Someone was waiting for me. A girl. I didn't know her, but I knew her face.

It was her. The girl from my dream.

She stood there, just like in my nightmare. Her chestnut-brown hair was cut just past her shoulders, with golden highlights that shimmered in the afternoon sun. She was at least ten centimeters shorter than me, but she felt electric, as though she belonged in this world while everything about her screamed out of place.

"The dream?" I thought, my mind racing to connect the dots. What was she doing here? Why was she standing there, waiting for me?

Her excited expression hadn't changed. She was looking at me as if she expected something. But what? And why was she here, now, of all times?