Chapter 1: Yesterday’s Crush, Today’s Stranger

Yesterday, I scored a date with the campus beauty. This morning, I woke up ten years older, in a stranger’s bed, with a kid calling me Dad.

My mouth was bone dry. I squeezed the unfamiliar sheets so hard my knuckles turned white, my mind racing. Was this some kind of elaborate prank? Some weird hangover dream?

The bed was way too soft, the scent of lavender dryer sheets filling my nose. Not even close to the scratchy twin in my college dorm. The mattress felt like it belonged in a fancy suburban home, not the life I remembered.

Groggy, I fumbled for a phone on the nightstand. It wasn’t any brand I recognized, and the fingerprint scanner refused to unlock. Swiping through the apps, everything screamed grown-up: mortgage reminders, soccer league notifications, a calendar packed with meetings I never remembered scheduling. My stomach twisted—had I really landed ten years in the future?

Just as panic started to close in, a small figure darted through the door.

He wore fuzzy Paw Patrol pajamas, cheeks flushed pink, breathing hard like he’d sprinted down the hallway just to check on me.

I dropped back, eyes squeezed shut like a kid hiding from monsters. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears.

Tiny footsteps crept closer, then a small, trembling hand pressed against my forehead. His little fingers shook as they brushed my skin, and for a second, I wanted to reach out and hug him—except I had no idea who he was.

A child’s voice tumbled out in a messy stream: “I had dinosaur chicken nuggets for lunch and Mrs. Parker let me use the blue crayon in art, and I built a spaceship with my blocks, but I missed you, Dad—”

I held my breath, trying to piece together who this kid could possibly be. Then, his next words hit me like a sledgehammer.

“Dad, you’ve been sick for days. Why won’t you wake up? Don’t you like me anymore? But I really miss you. Dad, please wake up.”

That desperate little voice pierced right through me. The ache in his words twisted my gut—I felt like I’d missed more than just a decade. I’d missed something vital.

No way. No freaking way. This has to be a dream. Or a joke. Or—something.

My eyes flew open.

A little boy, maybe four or five, stared back at me—fifty percent me, all worried eyes and sandy hair that stuck out in every direction. My jaw dropped. The resemblance was uncanny, but his wide brown eyes—so anxious—reminded me of someone I couldn’t quite place.

Before I could say a word, the kid bolted. He tore down the hallway, slippers smacking the hardwood. A soft thud, then silence. The air felt colder without him there.

No way. This couldn’t be real. I’d gone to bed dreaming about my first date with Emily, the campus beauty. I hadn’t even held her hand yet.

Now I was here, with a kid calling me Dad? My head spun, the world tilting sideways. Somewhere outside, a lawnmower rattled to life. The sound felt weirdly comforting, but nothing could ground me now.