The first thing Michael noticed was how bright the sun was.
He blinked awake to find his bedroom covered in golden light. The alarm clock read 7:58 a.m. Two minutes before it would've buzzed. Right on time. That was nice.
He yawned, stretched, and sat up, scratching the back of his head. A slight stiffness lingered in his shoulders and lower back—probably from sleeping in the wrong position. Or maybe he'd gone for a run yesterday and forgotten. He wasn't sure. It didn't matter.
Blackouts like that happened every now and then. His doctor once suggested they might be stress-related—something like dissociation or overexertion. But Michael didn't feel stressed. If anything, his life was calm. He liked it that way.
He moved through his morning routine with practiced ease. The kitchen greeted him with soft sunlight and clean countertops. Toast, egg, banana. He poured his tea, listening to the birds chirping outside, then checked the time on his phone.
8:22 a.m. He still had time.
He glanced at the mirror on the wall and adjusted his collar. His reflection smiled back—a man in his early twenties, clean-cut, clear-eyed, and composed. Most people would say he was attractive. Danielle from HR certainly had. So had Rachel from accounting, and Yui from the apartment next door. Michael liked them all well enough. He was friendly, helpful, remembered little things about them. But romance wasn't something he was interested in. Not now.
There was something comforting about solitude. It made life simpler. Predictable.
He finished his tea and headed for work.
The city moved around him in its usual rhythm—cars rolling by, shopkeepers unlocking doors, students crossing the streets in clumps. Michael walked at a steady pace, nodding to a few familiar faces along the way. A woman walking her dog waved at him. He smiled and waved back.
At the office, his arrival was met with the usual greetings.
"Morning, Michael."
"Hey, man—ready for the morning grind?"
"You look too good for a Monday."
He laughed softly at that one, brushing off the compliment with practiced humility. "It's just the lighting."
People liked Michael. He was the kind of coworker who brought pastries to morning meetings and stayed late to help finish a deadline. Calm under pressure, well-groomed, always polite. If anyone had to pick someone to trust, it'd be him.
He sat at his desk, opened his laptop, and began sorting through emails.
Everything was in order—deadlines, memos, reminders. He worked efficiently, his fingers moving with quiet confidence over the keys.
At 11:45 a.m., he reached into his bag for his lunch.
A Chicken sandwich. Apple slices. A small packet of almonds.
Lunch in the break room was a typical mix of small talk and half-hearted banter. Michael sat with a group of colleagues—most of whom liked having him around because he listened more than he talked.
"Did you hear about that string of murders uptown?" one of them asked between bites of salad. "Another one this weekend."
Michael looked up, mildly curious. "I thought that was just a rumor."
"No, it's real. Third body in two months. Creepy stuff."
"Serial killer vibes," another chimed in.
Michael frowned faintly. "I wonder how they're doing it without leaving any clues."
There was a pause at the table.
"Man, that's a weird thing to say," someone said, laughing.
He laughed too, shrugging it off. "I mean, it's weird how some people get away with things like that. You'd think they'd leave a trail."
"Maybe they're just really careful," someone muttered, half-joking. "Like, professionally trained or something."
The conversation moved on.
That evening, on his walk home, Michael stopped by the usual convenience store. He didn't need much—just milk, cereal, and a restock of coffee filters. The cashier, a tired-looking girl with a bright smile, glanced up as he placed his items on the counter.
"Hey, weren't you just here last night?"
Michael blinked. "No, I don't think so."
She looked confused for a second, then laughed. "Must've been someone who looked just like you. Seriously—same jacket, even."
He smiled politely. "I guess I've got one of those faces."
He paid, took his bag, and left. On the way out, he couldn't shake the vague itch of that comment. But only for a moment. It was probably just a coincidence.
Back home, he slipped off his shoes and walked into the kitchen. The overhead light flickered once before stabilizing. As he unpacked the groceries, he noticed that the coffee filters were already in the cabinet—an unopened pack, exactly the same brand.
"…Huh."
He didn't remember buying them recently, but maybe he had. Maybe he picked them up last week and forgot. It wasn't important. He set the new pack beside the old one and made a mental note not to buy more next time.
The rest of the evening passed in comforting monotony.
He cooked rice and vegetables, cleaned the dishes, and watered the plant by the window. At some point, he turned on a true crime documentary while folding laundry. The host was talking about organized killers—how they often blended in, sometimes lived completely double lives.
Michael didn't pay close attention. He liked the narrator's voice more than the content.
By 11:30 p.m., he was in bed, teeth brushed, lights off, the gentle hum of the city floating in through the window. The room was still, peaceful.
But his mind lingered—just for a moment—on the filters. On the convenience store girl who thought she saw him the night before.
They were small things. Random.
Still, something scratched at the edge of his thoughts. Not worry. Not fear. Just a… a flicker of blankness. As if something was missing, just out of reach.
He closed his eyes.
And when he opened them again, it was morning.