Signals From Tomorrow

CHAPTER 5: Testing the Future

Ethan sat on his bed long after the house had gone quiet, the phone resting in his hands, the words from the screen repeating in his mind: What will you do with what you know?

He had spent the last two days in a state of awe, watching event after event unfold exactly as predicted, checking times and places down to the very second, proving to himself over and over again that this was real, that it was perfect, and that it belonged to him.

But now that the proof was complete, now that there was no more room for doubt, the question had shifted.

Okay. It works. It tells me exactly what is going to happen. But… can I use it?

Up until now, he had mostly been a spectator. He had watched Marcus wait for him, and he had simply taken a different route. He had watched Lila drop her work, and he had just stood back and observed. He had let everything happen exactly as the phone said it would, almost as if he was afraid that if he interfered, the whole thing would break or stop working.

But that wasn’t enough anymore.

If the future was written down here, clear and readable, then surely he could do more than just watch it play out. Surely he could change things. Surely he could use this knowledge to make his life better, to fix the things that were broken, to stop the bad things from happening and bring about the good things.

He looked down at the screen, which was currently displaying a new list of upcoming events, much like the ones he had seen the day before. Small things, ordinary things, things that were going to happen in the coming hours and days.

He scrolled through the list, reading them carefully, searching for the right one—the right event that he could use to test his theory. He needed something simple, something small, something where the outcome was clear and easy to measure. Something where he could see exactly what happened if he decided to act differently.

And then he found it.

"Prediction 009: Tomorrow morning, at 8:41 AM, you will arrive at school. You will walk through the main entrance as usual. As you step inside, you will trip over the loose tile on the bottom step. You will drop your bag, your books will scatter across the floor, and you will be late for registration. Several students will see this happen and laugh."

Ethan read it again, a bitter taste rising in his mouth. He knew that tile. Everyone knew that tile. It had been loose for months, sticking up slightly higher than the others, slippery when it rained, and it had tripped up dozens of students. It was exactly the kind of thing that happened to him all the time—small, embarrassing, humiliating moments that made him the centre of attention in all the worst ways. Moments that reinforced the idea that he was clumsy, that he was unlucky, that things just went wrong around him.

But this time… I know it’s coming.

A slow, determined smile spread across his face. This was the perfect test. The prediction said he would trip. It said he would drop his bag. It said people would laugh.

But what if he didn’t?

What if he changed what he did? What if he didn’t walk through that door? What if he was careful? What if he took a different path?

Would the prediction be wrong? Or would the future find a way to happen anyway?

He made his decision right there. He would test it. He would prove that he wasn’t just bound by what was written here. He would prove that he had control.

If I can stop this from happening… then I can stop anything.

—

The next morning, Ethan woke up earlier than usual. He got dressed, packed his bag, and ate breakfast quickly, his mind already fixed on what he was going to do. He didn’t say much to his family, but there was a new energy inside him, a feeling of purpose that he hadn’t felt in years.

He left the house earlier than he normally would, walking toward the school at a steady pace. He checked the time constantly. 8:30… 8:35… 8:38…

He reached the school gates at exactly 8:40 AM. According to the prediction, he would arrive at 8:41, walk through the main entrance, and trip.

He stopped walking just before he reached the path that led up to the main doors. He looked up at the building, then looked down at the phone in his hand. The message was still there, unchanged, clear and certain.

You will walk through the main entrance as usual… you will trip… you will drop your bag…

Not today, Ethan thought.

Instead of heading for the main doors, he turned right and began walking along the side path that led to the smaller side entrance. It was rarely used, mostly by teachers and maintenance staff, and it was set further back, away from the crowds of students who usually gathered around the front steps.

He walked slowly, making sure he was taking his time, being extra careful with every step he took. He reached the side entrance, opened the door carefully, and stepped inside. There were no steps here, just a flat, smooth floor. There was no loose tile, no danger of slipping or falling.

He checked his watch. 8:42 AM.

He had arrived. He had come to school. But he had not gone through the main door. He had not stepped on that step. He had not tripped.

He waited, holding his breath, half-expecting something else to happen. Half-expecting the floor to suddenly open up, or for something else to come out of nowhere and make him fall anyway. But nothing happened. He just stood there in the quiet corridor, safe, steady, and unharmed.

He pulled out the phone immediately, his hands trembling slightly with excitement. He expected the message to change. He expected it to be marked as Incorrect or Failed or Changed. He expected it to update and show that he had avoided the incident.

But when he looked at the screen, the text was exactly the same as before.

Prediction 009: Tomorrow morning, at 8:41 AM, you will arrive at school. You will walk through the main entrance as usual. As you step inside, you will trip over the loose tile on the bottom step. You will drop your bag, your books will scatter across the floor, and you will be late for registration. Several students will see this happen and laugh.

And beneath it, in bright green text: Confirmed. Accuracy 100%.

Ethan frowned, confused. "Confirmed? But it didn’t happen. I changed it. How can it be confirmed?"

He stood there staring at the screen, trying to understand what it meant. He had done everything differently. He had taken a different route. He had avoided the danger completely. By all logic, the prediction should have been wrong. It should have proven that he could change things.

But the system was saying it was still correct.

Maybe… maybe I didn’t do enough? he wondered. Maybe this was just too easy? Maybe I need to try something bigger, something clearer, to really test if I can rewrite what is written here.

He spent the rest of the morning thinking about it, searching through the list of future events again, looking for something else to test. He needed something where the result was impossible to miss. Something where there was only one way it could happen.

He found it just before lunchtime.

"Prediction 010: At 1:12 PM, during the lunch break, the glass display cabinet in the main hallway will be knocked over. It contains the school’s sports trophies and awards. The glass will shatter. Many of the trophies will be damaged beyond repair. The person responsible will be seen running away, but their identity will be unclear. The school administration will assume you are responsible, as you were standing nearby at the time. You will be given detention and suspended for three days."

Ethan read the words, and his blood ran cold.

This was worse than tripping over a tile. This was serious. This was the kind of thing that would stay on his record, the kind of thing his parents would be furious about, the kind of thing that would make everyone say, There he goes again. Trouble follows him everywhere. He brings bad luck.

And the worst part? He wouldn’t even have done it. He would just be standing there, and because he was there, because of who he was, they would blame him anyway.

Not this time. Not ever.

This was the perfect test. This was big. This was clear. If he could stop this from happening, if he could make sure the cabinet never fell over, then he would have his answer once and for all. He would know that he was in control.

He checked the time. It was 12:45 PM. He had twenty-seven minutes before it was supposed to happen.

Ethan didn’t waste a second. He left the classroom immediately and hurried down to the main hallway. It was busy, as it always was during lunch break, students walking back and forth, talking and laughing, moving between the canteen and the common rooms.

Right there in the centre of the wall, between the noticeboards and the main staircase, was the tall wooden and glass cabinet that held all the school’s prizes. It was heavy, sturdy, and bolted securely to the wall—or at least, it was supposed to be. But according to the prediction, at 1:12 PM, something was going to hit it hard enough to knock it right over.

Ethan walked straight over to it. There were a few students standing nearby, looking at the trophies or checking the notices, but no one paid him any attention. He moved right up to the cabinet, standing close to it, placing his hands firmly against the side.

He was going to stop it. No matter what happened, no matter who or what came near it, he was going to hold it steady. He was going to make sure it stayed upright. If it said it would fall, he would prove it wrong by holding it up himself.

He checked his watch. 1:08 PM. Four minutes left.

He tensed his muscles, getting ready. He looked around the hallway, watching everyone who walked past, trying to guess which one was going to cause the accident. Was it someone running? Someone playing roughly? Someone carrying something heavy?

Come on, he thought, his heart pounding in his chest. Come and try. I’m ready. You won’t knock this over. Not while I’m here.

1:10… 1:11…

Ethan braced himself, his hands pressing hard against the wood and glass. He was ready for the impact. He was ready for the push. He was ready to hold on no matter what happened.

1:12 PM.

For a second, two seconds, three seconds… nothing happened.

Ethan let out a long breath, a huge rush of relief and victory washing over him. I did it. I stopped it. It didn’t happen. I won.

He looked down at the phone in his hand, ready to see the message change, ready to see it marked as incorrect, ready to finally have proof that he was the one in charge.

But what he saw made his blood turn to ice.

The text was still there, exactly as it had been written. And beneath it, the green words glowed brighter than ever:

"Prediction 010: Confirmed. Accuracy 100%."

“What?” Ethan whispered out loud, looking around frantically. “It didn’t happen! I stopped it! How can it be confirmed?!”

And then he heard it.

From the other end of the hallway, from the far side where he hadn’t been standing, there was a loud, heavy crash, followed by the sound of breaking glass and shouting voices.

Ethan’s head snapped around.

There, on the opposite wall, was the second display cabinet—the one he had completely forgotten about, the smaller one that held the older trophies and certificates that weren’t used anymore. It was lying on the floor, shattered glass everywhere, broken wood splintered across the tiles, trophies scattered and dented and smashed.

Students were running toward it, gathering around, shouting and pointing.

And standing right next to it, looking shocked and confused, was Ethan.

He hadn’t even realised he had walked over there. He had been so focused on protecting the first cabinet that he hadn’t noticed his own feet moving, hadn’t noticed himself walking across the hallway, hadn’t realised that in trying to stop one disaster, he had walked straight into the middle of the one that was actually going to happen.

“Hey! Look! It’s Ethan!” someone shouted. “He’s right there! He must have done it!”

“Of course he did! Nothing ever gets broken unless he’s around!”

“Go get a teacher! He’s going to be in so much trouble!”

The voices came from every direction, sharp and accusing and familiar. Just like the prediction had said. They saw him standing there. They assumed he was responsible. They didn’t need proof. They just needed him to be there.

Ethan stood frozen in place, staring at the mess on the floor, then looking back down at the phone.

The message hadn’t been wrong. He had tried to stop it, he had changed what he thought was going to happen, but the result had stayed exactly the same. The cabinet fell. The glass broke. He was blamed. Everything that was written down came true anyway, even though he had done everything he could to prevent it.

I changed the how, Ethan realised, his mind reeling with the terrifying truth. But I couldn’t change the what. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, the end result is still the same. It finds a way to happen, no matter what I do to stop it.

He felt a heavy weight settle in his chest, heavier than anything he had felt before. He had thought this knowledge was power. He had thought it meant he could control his own life, fix the things that were wrong, and finally be free from the bad luck and the blame that had followed him for years.

But now he saw the truth.

The future wasn’t just a story written down that he could edit or rewrite whenever he wanted. It was something solid, something unbreakable, something that existed regardless of what he chose to do. He could move the pieces around, he could change the path he took, he could do everything differently… but the destination always remained exactly the same.

And as he stood there listening to the shouts and accusations, watching people point fingers and shake their heads, he read the final line that had appeared on the screen, and it felt like it was written in ink that had seeped straight into his bones:

"You have tested the future. You have tried to change what is set in motion. You have learned the first great truth: Knowledge does not equal control. You can see what is coming… but you cannot simply make it go away. The future is not something you command. It is something you must learn to navigate."

Ethan closed his fingers tightly around the phone, his knuckles turning white.

He had wanted to be the master of what was to come.

But now he understood.

He wasn’t the master.

He was just the passenger.

And the journey was going to happen, whether he liked it or not.