When John saw the number—
He stopped breathing.
Nearly seventy thousand dead.
The words blurred for a moment, as if his mind refused to process them. Then, slowly… painfully… they settled.
A chill crept up his spine.
His fingers tightened around the phone.
"My God…" he whispered.
His voice barely existed.
"It's the same number…"
The same number he had seen.
In the dream.
Not close.
Not approximate.
Exact.
For a brief moment, the world around him seemed to tilt—like something deep beneath reality had just shifted out of place.
"This isn't real," he muttered quickly. "It can't be."
Coincidence.
It had to be.
It had to be.
But the word no longer comforted him.
Because deep down…
He already knew.
John had always believed in a Creator. In something greater. But his faith had never gone beyond quiet assumptions and inherited words. He had never truly felt anything.
Not like this.
Not something that reached inside him and twisted his sense of reality.
He glanced at his watch.
Lunch break.
He stood up abruptly.
He needed air.
"John!"
He didn't turn.
"Hey—aren't you inviting me to lunch today? It's your turn!"
Alex's voice echoed behind him, light, teasing.
But John kept walking.
He hadn't heard a word.
The street outside felt strangely distant.
Muted.
Like he was walking through a memory instead of the present.
Without thinking, his steps carried him across the road… toward the small park overlooking the sea.
The waves rolled in gently.
Calm.
Harmless.
Nothing like what he had seen.
John stood there, staring.
Breathing.
Trying to ground himself.
But the questions came anyway.
Relentless.
Why did I see it?
Why that number?
Why now?
His chest tightened.
"…what if it wasn't a dream?"
The thought slipped in quietly.
Dangerously.
He shut his eyes for a moment.
"No. Stop."
But another thought followed.
Colder.
Heavier.
What if it happens again?
A sharp sound cut through his thoughts.
A child crying.
John's eyes snapped open.
A woman nearby knelt beside her son, trying to calm him.
Normal.
Ordinary.
Real.
John exhaled slowly.
"I need to get back."
"Whoa."
John stopped.
Alex stood at the office entrance, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips.
"What's up with you today?" he said. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
John said nothing.
Alex leaned in slightly, lowering his voice with a playful tone:
"Did your fleet sink in the ocean or something?"
He chuckled.
For a second—
John just stared at him.
Then, flatly:
"Don't worry," he said. "They're insured."
And walked past him.
Alex's laughter faded behind him.
The rest of the day passed…
But not really.
John worked.
Typed.
Answered emails.
Reviewed reports.
Moved like a machine.
Efficient.
Precise.
Organized.
On the outside—
Nothing had changed.
But inside—
Something was unraveling.
Every now and then, his eyes drifted to his phone.
Half-expecting it to light up.
Half-dreading it.
But it stayed silent.
Too silent.
By the time evening came, John felt drained.
Empty.
He grabbed his keys and headed out.
Halfway to home, a dull ache in his stomach reminded him—
He hadn't eaten.
He stopped at his usual pizza place, barely noticing the people around him, then drove the rest of the way in silence.
The house greeted him with stillness.
A different kind of silence.
One he wasn't used to.
Messy.
Unlived in.
Unfinished.
Sarah wasn't there.
Sarah Miller had left a week ago, taking Adam with her to her family's farm.
Adam Miller.
Fifty years.
That's how long her parents had been married.
A celebration.
A gathering.
A full house.
The opposite of this.
John loosened his tie and stepped inside.
For the first time all day—
He felt alone.
He changed quickly, set the pizza on the table, and opened his laptop.
The television flickered to life in the background.
News.
Images.
Water.
Destruction.
Voices talking over each other.
"…unprecedented…"
"…evacuation…"
"…casualties rising…"
John muted it.
He couldn't listen.
Not anymore.
Instead, he turned to something else.
Search.
Earthquake dreams meaning.
Dreams predicting disasters.
Premonitions real or coincidence.
The results came fast.
Too fast.
Too many.
Most were vague.
Useless.
"Be cautious."
"A warning sign."
"Possible upcoming danger."
Danger.
What kind of danger?
When?
How?
No answers.
Only more questions.
John leaned back, rubbing his eyes.
But he didn't stop.
He went deeper.
Further.
Ancient prophecies.
Lost civilizations.
Warnings carved in stone.
The end of cycles.
The return of water.
Floods.
Always floods.
His breathing slowed.
Then—
A phrase caught his attention.
He leaned forward.
Read it again.
And again.
His heart began to pound.
Time slipped.
Quietly.
Unnoticed.
Until—
Midnight.
John blinked.
His eyes burned.
His body felt heavy.
He hadn't moved in hours.
The room was dim now.
The TV still flickering silently.
The laptop glowing faintly.
He closed it.
Turned everything off.
Darkness settled in.
Thick.
Heavy.
He leaned back on the sofa.
"Just a minute…" he whispered.
"I'll just rest for a minute…"
The room was silent.
Completely.
Then—
A faint vibration.
Somewhere.
Close.
John didn't move.
Didn't open his eyes.
Maybe he imagined it.
Maybe—
Another vibration.
Longer this time.
Closer.
John's eyes snapped open.
Darkness.
The room hadn't changed.
But something felt—
Wrong.
His phone.
On the table.
Lighting up.
He stared at it.
Not moving.
Not breathing.
The screen flickered once.
Twice.
Then stabilized.
A message.
Unknown Number.
Of course.
Slowly…
John sat up.
His body felt heavier than it should.
Like something was pressing down on him.
Watching.
Waiting.
He reached for the phone.
His hand trembled slightly.
He opened the message.
Four words.
Simple.
Cold.
Unavoidable.
YOU SAW IT AGAIN, DIDN'T YOU?
John's throat went dry.
His reflection appeared faintly on the dark screen.
This time—
It didn't wait.
It whispered.
Without sound.
Without movement.
Without mercy.
"What if the dream wasn't showing him the future…
But reminding him of something he had already lived?"