🕒 "The Clock Strikes Twice" — A Story of a Man Stuck in a Time Loop

 Have you ever walked into a room and felt like you’ve already been there? Or met someone for the first time but somehow knew what they were about to say? We call it déjà vu—fleeting, curious, sometimes eerie. But what if it wasn’t just a feeling? What if you weren’t imagining it?

This is the story of Ethan Vale. A 35-year-old photojournalist, always chasing the next great story, never staying in one place too long. He believed in logic, in lenses that captured truth, not in superstition or time-bending mysteries. That was, until the day time folded around him like a page turned back.

It started with a coffee spill.

Tuesday morning. 8:17 AM. A small café on the corner of 9th and Marlowe. Ethan dropped his phone, reached for it, and knocked over his coffee. The barista apologized—though it wasn’t her fault—and offered another. The moment seemed normal. Ordinary, even.

But then it happened again.

Same café. Same coffee spill. Same apology. And again. And again.

At first, Ethan thought he was just overtired. Maybe too much travel. Maybe jet lag. But the loop didn’t break. He tried leaving town. He tried smashing his phone. He even tried sleeping through the day. Still, 8:17 would come, and the same events would unfold like clockwork.

But here’s the strange part—it wasn’t an exact copy every time.

Each loop was almost the same. The same people, same city sounds, same coffee order. But occasionally, someone would say something new. Or the newspaper headline would shift slightly. Once, a bird flew through the café window—only in one version. It shattered the glass and everyone screamed, but when the loop reset, it never happened again.

It was as if the universe was trying to show Ethan something—but only in pieces.

And then came her.

A woman in a red coat. She appeared on the tenth loop. Just a glimpse. Walking past the window, turning to look directly at him. Her eyes held recognition, as if she remembered too.

The next time, she sat across from him.

“You’re not crazy,” she said, sipping from a chipped porcelain mug. “You’re caught.”

“Caught?” Ethan asked, stunned.

“In between moments. Something went wrong. Time hiccuped, and you got stuck in its throat.”

Her name was Lira, and she had once been caught too. For her, it lasted 204 loops. She told Ethan that breaking out wasn’t about logic—it was about choice. He had to do something different. Something he’d never do. Something that felt wrong but true.

Ethan tried everything. He quit his job. He told strangers his secrets. He even hugged the barista. Nothing worked.

Until he faced what he’d always avoided: calling his estranged father.

They hadn’t spoken in 12 years. The reasons didn’t matter anymore. Ethan walked to a payphone (yes, it was always there in the loop), dropped in the coins, and dialed the old number from memory.

His father answered.

Time didn’t reset.

The clock ticked to 8:18.

He was free.

Today, Ethan lives quietly in a small town by the sea. He still takes photos, but no longer chases stories. Instead, he waits. Because sometimes, when the wind blows just right or the smell of coffee lingers in the air, he sees the woman in the red coat walking by—and wonders if time ever truly lets go.