Page 114 of Time Loops & Meet Cutes
Speechless, I gesture with my mug for her to continue.
“So I kept trying to talk to you,” she says. “I knocked into you with my bubble tea for a cute-yet-disastrous meeting. We never kissed any of those times, but one day, I randomly walked into Leaside Brewing, and there you were. I flirted with you, and you gave me your number. We went on a date. Every morning, though, I had to start over because you didn’t know who I was, although I did give you a strong sense of déjà vu, and on a few occasions, you got close to guessing my name. You could also remember minor things about me, like my preferred beer, even if you weren’t aware of having met me before.”
“And you were doing that all in the hopes that I’d kiss you and send you back to your usual reality.”
“Well, at first, but I did like you, and even once I discovered that the kiss didn’t work, I kept returning. We went on dozens of first dates.” She describes many of them.
“Where was our first kiss?” I ask.
“Behind a building… near the market… after I had halo-halo.” She points to the untouched leche flan on the coffee table.
I shut my eyes and try to picture the kiss. I can conjure up an image, but it’s not a memory. Yet at the same time, there’s something familiar about it.
“I’d sworn off relationships after what happened with my ex,” Noelle says, “but I thought it was safe with you. You couldn’t remember, so it couldn’t be a real relationship. Except I began to care for you.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “How did you get out of the loop?”
“One day, it just ended, and rather than being June twenty-first, it was January. The real world had moved on while I was in the loop, but I didn’t remember it. It’s like there was a different version of me that was living that life, and I can’t access the memories.” She pauses. “Anyway, I found you again, and we hada conversation similar to one we’d had many times before… and it was a novelty to have you actually remember my name.”
“Did we ever sleep together when you were in the time loop?”
She nods. “I didn’t want to do it until you knew about the loop—it felt dishonest—so I told you. The fact that I could ‘predict the future,’ such as it was, seemed to convince you.”
“Then the next day—in your reality—I didn’t remember that conversation. I didn’t even remember your name.”
“Correct.”
I sip my coffee and run a hand through my hair. It’s pretty obvious why Noelle was nervous about telling me this. It’s one ridiculous story.
“Did you like living in the loop?” I ask.
“Ha. Well, I enjoyed the lack of consequences at times—money didn’t matter—but I wanted to find a way out. I wanted to live real life again.”
“You’re sure the dumplings are what caused it?”
“Yes. We found the woman’s daughter. She said her mom could manipulate time. We met with her on Friday—that’s why I couldn’t talk to you.”
“Sorry, I, um, need a moment to process all this.”
“That’s fine. I know it’s a lot.” Noelle’s trying to be calm, but her voice is shaking.
It all sounds impossible. I’d be a fool to believe it, wouldn’t I?
And yet…
I’m struggling to doubt the sincerity in her voice. Besides, why would she make up something like this? It must be true, yet how can it be?
But in some ways, it fits. There are the odd feelings I occasionally have with Noelle, for example, which is why I said that I feel like I knew in her in a previous life. Maybe my subconscious is aware of this alternate reality, even if I have no clearmemory of it. She had a strange reaction when I said those words, and now, that slots into place.
“If you’d never been in the time loop,” I say, “we never would have spoken to each other.”
“That’s right. Flirting isn’t something that comes naturally to me, but in the loop, I had the opportunity to mess up without you remembering.” She takes my hands in hers. “Trust me. I wouldn’t be telling you this if it weren’t true, and I didn’t hallucinate it, I swear. You can talk to Avery. Ask her anything you want. She experienced the same thing as me—we both ate the dumplings that night.”
I shake my head, and her expression—her whole body—drops.
“No, no,” I rush to say. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just… I don’t think there’s anything I need to ask your friend.”
“You really believe me?” Her words are tentative, hopeful.
