Friday night.
Sleepover in my house with Naomi.
Fluffy blankets. Microwave popcorn. Strawberry soda. Cozy hoodie. Zero thoughts. Just vibes.
"I picked something fun," Naomi said, tossing me the remote. "Not scary. Not tragic. And definitely no surprise heartbreak this time."
"Good," I said, flopping onto a pillow. "If another dog dies, I'm throwing the entire TV out the window."
She laughed. "It's a fantasy movie! Dragons! Swords! Dramatic stares into the sunset!"
Perfect. That's all I needed after a week of secret time-stopping, broom-related mysteries, and snack-based clues from future-me.
A chill night.
Just me, Naomi, and a fictional world far, far away.
Or so I thought.
---
47 Minutes Into the Movie
We were halfway through "Legacy of the Lost Sky," a very dramatic and slightly cheesy film with glowing swords and way too many characters with apostrophes in their names.
The hero was delivering an impassioned speech.
The camera panned to a wide shot of the battlefield.
Rows of extras. Flags fluttering. Rain falling for dramatic effect.
And then—
Naomi paused the movie.
"Wait. Back up."
I blinked. "What?"
"That person. In the back. By the left banner."
I squinted.
She rewound a few seconds, then paused again.
"There," she said, pointing.
In the corner of the screen, among the fake soldiers and set props, was a girl.
She wasn't in armor.
She wasn't holding a sword.
She was just standing there.
Wearing a hoodie.
My hoodie.
Her hair was like mine.
Her height. Her posture. Her slightly confused "wait, what" expression.
Naomi whispered, "Is that… you?"
My mouth went dry.
Because it really did look like me.
Not movie-extra me. Not someone cosplaying me.
Me-me.
"What would I even be doing in a movie from two years ago?" I said quickly. "It's probably just a coincidence."
Naomi tilted her head. "But… that's your old hoodie. The one with the cat ears."
"Exactly."
We stared at the screen.
In the film, "me" turned slightly, glanced toward the camera—just for a second—and then walked off-screen.
Gone.
---
Later That Night
Naomi had mostly let it go.
She started ranting about the villain's lack of backstory. We made hot cocoa. We watched bloopers. It should've been just another night.
But the image stuck in my head.
That glimpse of someone in the background of a story that wasn't hers… but somehow was.
Me, maybe.
From when? Why?
Did I go there during a time-stop glitch?
Did I visit a world that looked like fiction but was real enough to get filmed?
Or… was this another future-me breadcrumb?
I didn't know.
But I saved a screenshot of the scene on my phone.
Just in case.
Because if I've learned anything lately…
The quiet moments are never just quiet.
Not when you're a time-stumbler with a habit of being in the wrong place at the right time.