THE GIRL WHO REMEMBERED TOMORROW

3:17 A.M. Amara woke up screaming. Her hands flew to her throat as she dragged air into her lungs. Her heart hammered against her ribs, so violently that for a moment she was certain it would break through her chest. Darkness surrounded her. Her bedroom was exactly as it had been when she went to sleep. The pale curtains moved gently beside the window. Her school uniform hung from the back of her chair. A book lay open on her desk. Nothing was wrong. Nothing except the memory still trapped inside her head. A funeral. Her funeral. Amara pressed both hands against her temples. “No,” she whispered. She could still see it. The black coffin. The hundreds of people dressed in mourning clothes. Rain falling over a grave. Her mother crying. Someone standing beneath a black umbrella at the very back of the crowd. A boy. She couldn’t see his face. But she knew his eyes. She had seen them before. In every dream. For the past three years. Amara stumbled out of bed and switched on the lamp. The light flickered. Once. Twice. Then remained steady. She stared at the clock. 3:17. Again. It was always 3:17. She had stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago. The first time it happened, she had dreamed about a glass falling from a kitchen counter. The next morning, her mother dropped a glass in exactly the same place. The second time, she dreamed of a woman in a red coat standing beside a bus stop. Three days later, the woman appeared on the news. She had been missing for eleven years. The third time, Amara heard a stranger whisper her name. The next afternoon, a man she had never seen before walked past her school gate and said it. “Amara.” She had followed him. He disappeared around a corner. There had been no alley. No doorway. Now there was this. Her own funeral. Amara grabbed her phone. 4% battery. She opened the camera and stared at herself. Her face looked pale. Her eyes were swollen from sleep. Nothing unusual. Then her reflection smiled. Amara didn’t. She dropped the phone. It hit the floor with a sharp c***k. For several seconds, she couldn’t move. Slowly, she looked up. Her reflection was normal again. Amara backed away from the mirror. “No.” A knock came from her bedroom door. She froze. “Amara?” Her mother’s voice. Relief washed over her. “Mum?” “Yes?” “Come in.” The door opened. Her mother stood in the hallway wearing a robe, her hair loose around her shoulders. “What happened?” Amara stared at her. For some reason, the sight of her mother made the memory of the funeral hurt even more. “Nothing.” Her mother stepped inside. “You were screaming.” “I had a nightmare.” Her mother’s expression changed. “What kind?” Amara hesitated. She didn’t know why, but something inside her screamed not to tell her. So she lied. “Nothing important.” Her mother watched her for a long moment. Then she walked over and touched Amara’s forehead. “You’re cold.” “I’m fine.” Her mother pulled the blanket around her shoulders. “Try to sleep.” As she turned toward the door, Amara noticed something. A small red mark on her mother’s wrist. Three thin lines. Like scratches. Amara’s stomach tightened. “Mum?” Her mother stopped. “What?” “Where did you get that?” Her mother looked at her wrist. For one strange second, fear flashed across her face. Then it disappeared. “This?” “Yes.” “I don’t know.” “You don’t know?” Her mother smiled nervously. “Probably the garden.” She left. Amara stared at the closed door. Something was wrong. She knew it. But she didn’t know what. She picked up her phone. The screen had gone black. She pressed the power button. Nothing. Then the phone vibrated. Amara nearly screamed. The screen came alive. UNKNOWN NUMBER One new message. Her fingers trembled as she opened it. There was no text. Only a photograph. Amara stared. It was a picture of a cemetery. The same cemetery from her dream. The same black coffin. The same rain. Her blood ran cold. She zoomed in. At the very back of the photograph stood the mysterious boy. This time, she could see his face. Amara stopped breathing. She knew him. Not from school. Not from her neighborhood. Not from anywhere in her life. But somehow… she knew him. Then another message appeared. DON’T LET HIM FIND YOU. Amara’s hands shook. A second message followed. HE ALREADY HAS. The bedroom lights went out. Darkness swallowed everything. Then came three slow knocks. Not from the door. Not from the window. From inside her bedroom wall. Knock. Knock. Knock. Amara backed away. Her breath trembled. Then a voice whispered through the wall. A man’s voice. Young. Soft. Terrified. “Amara.” She covered her mouth. The voice spoke again. “Please.” A pause. “Wake me up.” Amara stared at the wall. “What?” Silence. Then— “Before he kills you.” The wall cracked. A thin black line appeared across the paint. Amara stumbled backward. The c***k widened. Something moved behind it. And then a hand pushed through. Amara screamed. The lights suddenly returned. The wall was perfectly intact. No c***k. No hand. No voice. Nothing. Only her phone lying on the floor. Its screen displayed one final message. SEVEN DAYS. Amara stared at the words. She didn’t understand. Seven days until what? Then her phone received another message. This one contained only a name. ELIAM. Amara’s heart stopped. Because somewhere deep inside her memory, beneath the fear and confusion, something awakened. A voice. A touch. A promise. And a sentence she suddenly remembered hearing long ago: I will find you in every lifetime. Amara whispered the name. “Eliam.” Outside her window, something moved. She turned. A boy stood across the street. Watching her. Even from that distance, she recognized his eyes. The same eyes from her dreams. The same eyes from her funeral. He lifted one hand. Not waving. Warning her. Then he mouthed four words. You’re not supposed to remember. And disappeared into the darkness. Amara stood frozen beside her window. For the first time in three years, she wasn’t dreaming about the future. The future had come looking for her.