I Loved Her in Every Universe

I have watched the world end more times than I can remember. Fire falling from the sky. Cities folding into themselves. Screams swallowed by silence. But none of that ever hurt as much as this single moment— Seeing her again. She was standing at the bus stop, holding a paperback novel against her chest, her hair loose and dancing in the evening wind. The world around her was painfully normal. Cars passed. People laughed. A street vendor argued over change. And she smiled. The same smile. The one I had crossed time for. The one I had failed to save. My heart stopped. Not metaphorically. Not poetically. It actually stopped beating for two full seconds before my body remembered it was supposed to stay alive. I clenched my fists inside the pockets of my jacket, nails digging into my palms as I forced myself to breathe. Not yet, I told myself. Don’t go to her yet. Because I already knew how this would end. This universe smelled wrong. Every world had its own scent—metal and smoke, rain and blood, ash and ozone. This one smelled… clean. Too clean. Like freshly washed streets after a storm that never happened. Which meant only one thing. This was an early timeline. A world where she still lived long enough to fall in love. I hated those the most. I stood across the street, pretending to check my phone while watching her reflection in the glass of a closed shop. She hadn’t noticed me yet. She never did. Not at first. She was human in this universe. Soft. Fragile. Untouched by the horrors waiting for her. Her name here was Elena. It wasn’t always Elena. Sometimes it was Lily. Sometimes Mira. Sometimes she had no name at all—just a number etched onto her wrist in a world ruled by machines. But it was always her. Same soul. Same eyes. Same fate. She adjusted the strap of her bag and frowned at the sky, as if sensing something was wrong. My chest tightened. She always feels it, I thought. The universe leaning in. A bus screeched to a halt in front of her. The doors opened. She hesitated. In three different timelines, this hesitation was the last choice she ever made. I stepped forward without thinking. “Wait.” My voice sounded rough, unfamiliar—even to me. Too many lifetimes had scraped it raw. She turned. And just like that, the universe punched me in the ribs. Her eyes met mine, wide and curious, and something ancient flickered there. Recognition. Fear. A memory she wasn’t supposed to have. My wolf stirred beneath my skin. Danger, it warned. Bond. She blinked. “Do… do I know you?” I swallowed. I had practiced this moment across dozens of worlds. Different answers. Different lies. Different truths. None of them ever saved her. “No,” I said finally. “You don’t.” Her brows knitted together. “Then why do I feel like—” She stopped herself, shaking her head with a soft laugh. “Sorry. That was weird.” Yes. It always was. The bus doors hissed again. She looked between me and the bus, uncertainty dancing across her face. In another universe, I had begged her not to get on. In another, I had dragged her away by force. In another, I had kissed her right there, consequences be damned. She died in all of them. So this time, I stepped aside. She smiled politely and boarded the bus. The doors closed. The bus pulled away. And just like that, I had chosen distance over hope. Again. I followed her anyway. I always did. She lived in a small apartment on the third floor of a brick building that smelled faintly of detergent and old paint. I watched from across the street as she fumbled with her keys, humming under her breath. A song. I froze. It was old. Ancient. A melody that hadn’t existed in this timeline yet. My pulse spiked. How do you know that song? I wondered. She disappeared inside, lights flickering on moments later. Her silhouette moved behind thin curtains. I turned away before my control snapped. The moon was already rising. Bad sign. I ducked into the alley beside the building, pressing my back against the cold brick wall. My breath came too fast, too shallow. “Easy,” I muttered to myself. “Not tonight.” The wolf didn’t answer. It never did when it agreed. Pain rippled through my spine as my bones shifted just enough to remind me who—and what—I was. I bit down on a growl, jaw locking as heat surged through my veins. I had crossed three timelines to get here. I was weak. And weakness made control harder. I slid down the wall, sitting in the shadows as memories clawed their way to the surface. The first time she died, I was human. I still remembered the way her blood had felt on my hands—warm, sticky, impossible to wash away. I remembered screaming her name until my throat tore open. That was the day I begged the universe for a second chance. It listened. It just didn’t tell me the price. I didn’t sleep that night. I never did when she was this close. At dawn, I watched her leave for work. She wore a light blue dress today, hair braided loosely over one shoulder. I smiled despite myself. Blue always suited her. I followed at a distance, blending into crowds, reflections, shadows. I knew her schedule already. I always did. She worked at a small bookstore two streets away from a park that would later become a battlefield in another timeline. I watched her unlock the door, the bell chiming softly as she stepped inside. The sound echoed in my skull. Ding. In one universe, that bell had been the last thing she ever heard. I crossed the street. This time, I went in. The smell of paper and ink wrapped around me instantly. She looked up from the counter, surprise flashing across her face. “You,” she said. I nodded. “Me.” She tilted her head, studying me like a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. “We met yesterday.” “Yes.” “And you said we don’t know each other.” “We don’t.” “That’s a lie.” I stiffened. She smiled apologetically. “Sorry. That came out harsher than I meant.” “No,” I said quietly. “You’re right.” Her fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. “Then why do you look at me like that?” I forced myself to meet her eyes. “Like what?” “Like you’re saying goodbye.” Because I was. Because I always was. “I lost someone once,” I said instead. Her expression softened immediately. “I’m sorry.” “You remind me of her.” A half-truth was still safer than a lie. She hesitated, then gestured toward the shelves. “Feel free to look around.” I nodded and moved deeper into the store, pretending to browse while listening to the rhythm of her heartbeat. Strong. Steady. For now. Time moved strangely when I was near her. Minutes stretched into fragile eternities. She laughed at something a customer said, and my chest ached. This is why it hurts, the wolf murmured. You keep choosing to remember. A sudden chill swept through the room. Every hair on my body stood on end. I smelled it then. Smoke. And something darker beneath it. I turned slowly. A man stood near the back of the store, dressed in black, eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat. The air around him felt… wrong. Heavy. Bent. Not human. Recognized. My jaw clenched. Not yet, I thought angrily. It’s too early. The man’s lips curved into a faint smile. He knew me. I moved toward the counter quickly. “You should close the store early today.” She blinked. “What?” “Please.” The man took a step forward. Time shuddered. “I can’t just—” “Now,” I snapped, control slipping. She flinched. The wolf surged. The man laughed softly. “Still trying to play the hero, Alpha?” Her eyes widened. “Alpha?” I cursed under my breath. The lights flickered. Books began to slide off shelves. The man tipped his hat. “We’ll meet again,” he said to her, voice oily with promise. “You always scream so beautifully.” Before I could reach him, he vanished—folding into shadow like he’d never existed. Silence crashed down around us. Her breathing came fast, panicked. I grabbed her wrists gently. “Listen to me.” She stared at me, fear and something else—something deeper—burning in her gaze. “Who are you?” I opened my mouth. Closed it. Told her the truth. “I’m the reason you’re in danger.” She pulled her hands free. “That’s not an answer.” “It’s the only one that matters.” Her phone buzzed on the counter. She glanced at the screen. Her face went pale. “What is it?” I asked. “It’s… weird,” she said slowly. “I just got a calendar notification.” My blood ran cold. “For what?” She swallowed. “It says… ‘Date of Death.’” The wolf howled inside me. I already knew the date. I had memorized it across a hundred worlds. She looked up at me, eyes trembling. “It’s today.”