Page 13 of Time Loops & Meet Cutes
My cheeks flame. “Do you want to go on a date? It needs to be tonight.”
“Why is that?”
“Um…”
“Number thirty-two?” says the woman behind the counter.
I grab my drink and run out of there as fast as I can.
I haven’t given up on Operation: Get Kissed. But it hasn’t been going well so far, and I figure I should try other things too.
That evening, I return to the night market. I still can’t find the dumpling woman. However, since I need something to eat, I go to another dumpling stall.
Hypothesis: perhaps it’s not those particular dumplings that sent me into the time loop, butanydumplings that are consumed at this market. Maybe if I eat dumplings again, my life will return to normal.
Okay, I don’t actually expect this to work, but it’s worth a try, right?
The dumplings are good, but not quite as good as at the other place. After I finish them, I get an ube halaya pandesal—re-creating my dinner from the first June 20—and see someone familiar in my peripheral vision. Cam. Since the day hasn’t reset, he’ll remember who I am.
I duck behind the person in the Pocky box costume, too embarrassed for Cam to see me after our earlier interaction, but I keep an eye on him. When he disappears from view, I exhale and start walking toward the subway station. I look at my phone to check that the security incident is over and—
I bump into someone.
“Sorry,” I say. “I was—wait. You have green hair today.” It’s the white woman I saw the other day, the one with a pink bob.
“And you have long hair.” Her eyebrows draw together. “I know this sounds ridiculous, but are you reliving June twentieth over and over?”
7Noelle
I can’t believe it. After thinking I was the only one for so long, it turns out that I have company in the time loop. I nearly cry in relief.
“Yes!” I say. “I am.”
“Oh, thank god,” she says. “I thought it was just me. I’m Avery, by the way.”
“Noelle.”
“Did you eat dumplings at the booth next to the noodle place? There’s nothing there today, but I swear, on the first June twentieth—”
“Yes, I did.”
“It’s not on the night market website—”
“That’s right!” I say. “I checked. Couldn’t find anything.”
I shouldn’t interrupt Avery, but it’s so exciting to find someone who’s experiencing the same thing as I am.
Deciding we should discuss this further, we walk a couple of blocks to a coffee shop, where it’s a littler quieter. We sit on the patio with our drinks.
Avery is dressed casually, in shorts and a tank top with horizontal stripes, a black bag slung across her body; she didn’t remove it when we sat down. Square frames are perched on her nose. I figure she’s a few years younger than me.
“I stopped going to work after the first repeat,” she says.
“Me too. What’s the point? Although I did some work one evening because I wasn’t sure what else to do with myself.”
“I’ve dyed my hair three different colors. Pink is my favorite. Blue looked ghastly, but at least it was gone the next day.”
“I’ve never wanted to dye my hair, but I did like trying a new haircut consequence-free. If I ever get out of this, I’ll get that haircut for real.”
