Trust Me

"Heyy," said the girl, her voice light and full of energy.

"Hi," I responded instinctively, still caught off guard. A millisecond later, before I could say anything else, another voice rang out.

"Emilyyy!"

A girl came running up, breathless. Emily turned to her, visibly frustrated. "What do you want?"

"We're still meeting after school, right?"

Emily sighed but nodded. "Yeah, of course."

"Okay, later! Gotta catch the bus!"

With that, the girl ran off, leaving me standing there, processing.

So her name was Emily.

Before I could dwell on it, she turned back to me with a smile and—before I knew it—wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. The warmth of her embrace, the scent of her shampoo—everything about this moment felt familiar, yet completely foreign.

I barely had time to react before she took my hand, her fingers interlocking with mine as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"I missed you," she said.

I blinked. "Huh?"

Emily giggled. "I know it's only been a night since our last date, but I really want to go on another one."

A date.

She looked up at me expectantly, her chestnut-brown hair catching the light, golden highlights glowing under the sun. She was cute. Too cute.

I barely knew what was happening, but one thing was clear—if she was my girlfriend, I wasn't about to mess this up.

"Uh... sure," I said.

Men are simple.

Emily beamed. "Good! Come on, the bus downtown will be here in two minutes."

She tugged my hand, and I followed, still trying to wrap my head around everything.

A day ago, I was in seventh grade.

Now, I'm a year older, holding hands with a girl I don't remember dating.

And somehow, things were only getting stranger.

We ran to the bus station and arrived barely on time and entered the bus and we sat on the right side of the bus near the door.

As we sat down near the door, Emily leaned her head on my shoulder, sighing contentedly.

"You seem tired," I said, glancing down at her.

She hummed. "Not tired. Just happy."

I chuckled. "That makes one of us."

She lifted her head, frowning. "You okay? You seem... distant."

I hesitated. How was I supposed to explain that I had just time-traveled a whole year overnight? That my mind was still stuck in seventh grade while my body and everyone else had moved on?

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile. "Just... a long day."

Emily didn't look convinced. "Liar."

I sighed. "It's complicated."

She tilted her head. "Complicated how?"

I looked at her, debating whether I should tell her the truth. Would she even believe me?

"Do you ever feel like... you missed something really important? Like, a huge part of your life just disappeared?"

Emily blinked. "I mean, yeah, when I binge-watch a show and suddenly it's 3 AM."

I snorted. "Not what I meant."

She nudged me playfully. "Okay, fine, I get what you're saying. But why do you ask?"

I hesitated again. "Just... forget it."

Emily studied me for a moment, then shrugged. "Fine, keep your secrets, mysterious boyfriend. But don't forget, I will get it out of you eventually."

I smiled, appreciating how she didn't push too hard.

The bus jerked to a stop, and she grabbed my hand, pulling me up. "Come on, we're getting off here."

I frowned. "Wait, I thought we were going downtown?"

Emily smirked. "Change of plans. I have a surprise for you."

I groaned. "Emily—"

"Nope. No complaining. Just trust me."

I sighed, but followed her off the bus, letting her lead the way.

And for a moment, I forgot about the missing year. I forgot about the confusion, the fear.

Because right now, she was here. And for now, that was enough.

A man—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a dark hoodie with the hood up. His hands were shoved into his pockets, but something about the way he stood made my skin crawl. Like he was waiting for us.

Emily took a step back, her fingers tightening around mine. "Uh… hey," she said hesitantly.

The man didn't respond.

I swallowed. "Look, if this is your shortcut home or something, we'll just—"

"You're late," the man said. His voice was low, rough, like someone who had smoked too many cigarettes.

My breath caught. "Late for what?"

He tilted his head slightly, as if studying me. "So you really don't remember."

I exchanged a glance with Emily. "Remember what?"

The man sighed, almost disappointed. "A year's gone by, and you're still asking the wrong questions."

My blood turned to ice.

He knew.

Somehow, this stranger knew about the missing year—about what had happened to me.

Emily's grip on my hand was almost crushing now. "Yamen," she whispered, "who is this guy?"

"I don't know," I admitted.

The man took a slow step toward us. "You should," he said. "Because a year ago, you and I had a deal."

I tensed. "What deal?"

His hands finally left his pockets. He reached up and lowered his hood, revealing a sharp, angular face, dark stubble along his jaw, and piercing gray eyes that looked straight through me.

"You really don't remember, do you?"

I shook my head, my heart pounding. "No. I don't."

The man exhaled, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "Then we have a problem."

Emily stepped in front of me, her voice firm. "Listen, I don't know who you are or what you're talking about, but we're leaving."

She tugged on my hand, but the man took another step forward, blocking our way.

"You can leave," he said, his gaze locked onto mine. "But Yamen stays."

The air between us grew heavy. The alley suddenly felt even smaller.

"Not happening," Emily snapped.

I could hear the tension in her voice, feel the heat rising in my own chest. My instincts screamed at me to run, but something told me this man wasn't just a random stranger.

He knew me.

He knew something about the missing year.

And he wasn't here by accident.

"Start talking," I said, standing my ground. "What deal? What happened to me last year?"

The man studied me again, then smirked.

"Good," he said. "At least you're asking the right questions now."

Then he reached into his jacket.

And everything happened at once.

Out of his jacket, he pulled a pack of gum. He slid out three pieces, handing one to me, one to Emily, and keeping the last for himself.

"Chew it," he ordered.

Emily crossed her arms. "Why should we listen to you?"

"Y-yeah," I added, though my voice was weaker than hers.

The man sighed, then slowly reached into his other pocket. My stomach dropped.

A Glock 17.

Emily stiffened beside me. My whole body went cold. The alley walls suddenly felt even closer.

"Chew it," he repeated, his voice dangerously calm.

Safe to say, we both chewed.

The moment my teeth sank into the gum, I felt nothing unusual—just the familiar, rubbery texture. But by the third chew, my vision shut off.

Not black. Not white. Nothing.

For a terrifying moment, I didn't see. I had no sense of space, no sense of the alley, no sense of Emily beside me.

Then—

A rainbow flickered.

My sight snapped back, and the man was still standing there.

Only this time, the Glock was aimed directly at my stomach.

I barely had time to react before— Bang.

A blinding, searing pain exploded through my gut. My body jerked violently backward as if I had been impaled. My scream ripped out of me before I even realized I was screaming. Beside me, Emily's voice joined mine. The agony was unbearable—like fire spreading from the hole in my stomach, tearing through my insides.

I clutched at my abdomen, expecting to feel blood pouring out. Instead—

Nothing.

The pain evaporated.

My breath came in short gasps as I slowly looked down. My shirt had a gaping hole burned into it. But my skin? Perfectly intact.

Emily trembled beside me, staring at her own stomach in disbelief. She had been shot too—same spot, same lack of injury.

I looked up at the man, my mind racing. "What the hell just happened?"

He smirked, tucking the gun back into his jacket.

"Now," he said, "we can talk."