Chapter 34: The Lost Tuesday (1)
EL'S APARTMENT – 8:00 AM – TUESDAY
Thump.
Something landed on his chest.
Thump. Thump.
Then a paw pressed firmly against his face.
El's eyes snapped open.
Oreo was standing on his chest, staring down at him with the judgmental intensity of a creature who had been waiting far too long for breakfast.
"Meow."
El blinked.
The ceiling. His bedroom. Morning light filtering through cheap curtains.
Sunday.
It's Sunday. No work. Just rest.
He reached up and scratched behind Oreo's ears. She tolerated it for exactly two seconds before meowing again — louder this time.
"I'm getting up," he mumbled.
Oreo didn't believe him. She never did.
He sat up slowly. Stretched. His neck cracked. His eyes burned. But that was normal. That was every morning.
Sunday.
One more day before Monday.
One more day before work.
One more day before—
He stopped.
Before what?
He couldn't remember.
He shook it off. Stood up. Walked to the kitchen.
Oreo followed, weaving between his ankles, nearly tripping him twice.
"You're dramatic," he muttered.
She meowed in agreement.
He opened a can of wet food. Scooped it into her bowl. She attacked it like she hadn't eaten in weeks.
Then he made his own breakfast.
Frozen burrito. Microwave. Thirty seconds. Flip. Thirty more seconds.
Coffee. Black. Dark. Bitter.
He ate slowly. Standing at the counter. Watching the city wake up through his cheap curtains.
Sunday.
No rush.
No work.
Just... rest.
He took his time with the dishes. Let the water run warm over his hands. Listened to the quiet.
Then his phone buzzed.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Then a flood.
DEMI: GOOD MORNING SUNSHINE
DEMI: ARE YOU AWAKE
DEMI: ARE YOU COMING TO WORK
DEMI: EL
DEMI: ELLLLLL
DEMI: MIRA'S BEEN ASKING WHERE YOU ARE
DEMI: IT'S 8:30 AM
DEMI: YOU'RE NEVER LATE
DEMI: DID YOU FINALLY CRACK
DEMI: SHOULD I SEND HELP
DEMI: I'M SENDING HELP
DEMI: THE HELP IS ME
DEMI: I'M ON MY WAY
El stared at the screen.
08:30 AM.
Tuesday.
Not Sunday.
Tuesday.
The loop was back.
He set the phone down. Picked it up. Set it down again.
Why now?
It's been almost a week.
I thought it was over.
I thought—
His phone buzzed again. Unknown number.
UNKNOWN: You're finally back to Tuesday. Now you'll know the answer to your question.
El froze.
Stared at the screen.
Who is this?
What question?
What answer?
His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to type something — anything — but his mind was blank.
He read the message again.
"You're finally back to Tuesday."
Finally.
Someone was waiting for him to return.
He scrolled up. No previous messages. Just this one. Just this stranger.
Who are you?
He typed:
EL: How do you have my number?
A pause.
UNKNOWN: That's not the question you should be asking.
El's jaw tightened.
EL: Then what should I ask?
UNKNOWN: How do I face this Tuesday?
El stared at the screen.
Face this Tuesday.
Not survive. Not escape. Face.
EL: What does that mean?
UNKNOWN: You always know the answer. Just be careful what question you ask.
Frustration bubbled in his chest.
EL: You always reply in metaphors—
The message didn't send.
Blocked.
He tried again. Nothing.
The stranger was gone.
---
TATE ASSOCIATION – 10:45 AM
El walked through the lobby. The security guard nodded at him. He didn't nod back.
The elevator ride was silent.
The doors opened to the 9th floor.
Demi was waiting.
"Dude." Demi grabbed his shoulders.
"You're alive. I was about to call the police. Or a priest. One of them."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're never fine. That's your whole brand."
Demi studied his face. "You look like you saw a ghost. Again."
El opened his mouth. Closed it.
Tell him.
Show him the messages.
He'll believe you this time.
Maybe.
He pulled out his phone. Scrolled to the unknown number.
Nothing.
The conversation was gone.
Just Demi's flood of messages. Just the normal chaos. Just empty space where the stranger should be.
El stared at the screen.
It's gone.
The messages are gone.
Like they never existed.
Demi leaned over. "What? What is it?"
El shook his head. "Nothing."
"That's not a 'nothing' face. That's a 'something is very wrong' face."
El put the phone away. "I got a text this morning. From someone. They said... they said I was finally back to Tuesday."
Demi blinked. "Back to Tuesday? What does that mean?"
"It means the loop is back."
Demi was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed — the kind of sigh that said here we go again.
"El. Man. I love you. You're my best friend. But the time loop thing—"
"It's real."
"I know you think it's real."
"I know it's real."
Demi ran a hand through his perfect hair.
"Okay. Okay. Let's say, hypothetically, the loop is back. What does that mean for today? For work? For your Q3 reports?"
El didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
Demi patted his shoulder.
"Look. Whatever's going on. I'm here. Okay? Even if I don't believe the whole time loop thing. I'm still here."
El nodded.
He doesn't believe me.
He never believes me.
But he's still here.
That's enough.
It has to be.
---
MIRA'S OFFICE – 11:00 AM
El stood outside her door.
He could see her through the glass. She was typing something on her tablet. Her hair was slightly out of place today — just a strand. Barely noticeable.
He knocked.
She looked up. Her expression shifted — from professional to something softer. Just for a second.
"Come in."
He stepped inside.
She gestured to the chair across from her desk.
"Sit."
He sat.
She didn't speak immediately. Just looked at him. Those sharp eyes missing nothing.
"You're late."
"I know."
"Two hours late."
"I know."
Mira tilted her head. Studied him.
"You're never late."
"I know."
She leaned back. Crossed her arms.
"Demi said you've been... struggling."
El's jaw tightened. "Demi talks too much."
"He's worried about you." A pause. "So am I."
He looked at her. Really looked.
She wasn't angry. Wasn't disappointed. She was just... there. Watching. Waiting.
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You've been saying that for two days."
"Because it's true."
Mira leaned forward. Her perfume — flowers that went to business meetings — wrapped around him.
"You're a terrible liar, El."
"I'm an excellent liar."
"You're an excellent marketer. There's a difference."
He didn't respond.
She held his gaze. Just a second longer than necessary.
Then she picked up her coffee cup. Took a sip. Made a face.
"The coffee here is terrible."
El blinked. "What?"
"The coffee. It's terrible. I've been meaning to say something for months."
She set the cup down. "But I keep forgetting."
Why is she talking about coffee?
Why am I still here?
Why isn't she yelling at me for being late?
Mira stood. Walked to the window. Looked out at the city.
"You know, I used to come here early. Before anyone else. Just to have a moment of quiet."
El didn't move.
"Then you started coming early too."
His chest tightened.
"I noticed," she said quietly.
"I notice a lot of things about you, El."
What does she mean by that?
Why is she saying this now?
Why—
She turned. Looked at him. That soft look. The one she tried to hide.
"You should go. You have reports to finish."
El stood. Nodded.
But he didn't move.
Neither did she.
They stood there — just for a moment — neither willing to break the silence.
Then Mira smiled. Just slightly. Just enough.
"Don't be late again."
"I won't."
She nodded. Turned back to the window.
El walked out.
His heart was pounding.
Why is my heart pounding?
She was just doing her job.
She was just—
Was she?
He shook his head.
I'm imagining things.
I have to be.
---
EL'S CUBICLE – 11:30 AM
El sat at his desk. Stared at his computer.
The Q3 projections glowed on the screen. 50% done. Ahead of schedule. Normal.
But nothing felt normal.
The loop is back.
The stranger texted me.
The messages are gone.
Mira was acting strange.
Was she flirting?
No.
She was just being nice.
She's always nice.
Isn't she?
His phone buzzed.
DEMI: OKAY I'VE BEEN THINKING.
DEMI: ABOUT THE TIME LOOP THING.
DEMI: I STILL DON'T BELIEVE YOU. BUT I'M LISTENING. THAT'S PROGRESS, RIGHT?
DEMI: ALSO ALSO ALSO MIRA ASKED ME TO ASK YOU IF YOU WANT COFFEE. AGAIN. SOFT VOICE. AGAIN.
DEMI: I'M NOT SAYING SHE HAS A CRUSH ON YOU. BUT I AM DEFINITELY SAYING SHE HAS A CRUSH ON YOU.
DEMI: OKAY THAT'S ALL. FOR NOW. I'LL TEXT YOU AGAIN IN TEN MINUTES.
El stared at the screen.
Demi.
Always Demi.
Always trying.
Always failing.
Always trying anyway.
He typed back:
EL: You're impossible.
DEMI: I'M ACCURATE. THERE'S A DIFFERENCE.
He set the phone down.
Looked at the ceiling.
The loop is back.
The stranger said I'd find answers.
What answers?
What questions should I be asking?
"How do I face this Tuesday?"
He didn't know.
But he was about to find out.