One Way Back

Jaden sat in the waiting room, staring at the clock ticking down his last few minutes of indecision. The thing was real. Time travel. Everyone knew it now; it wasn’t some fringe theory. You could go back once, and only once. One shot, one way. No one knew how far back you'd land, or how much control you had. Just that it worked.

The small room was sterile and gray. The only sound was the faint hum of the air purifier cycling on and off. The technician, Trey, leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching Jaden with a mixture of impatience and disinterest.

“You’ve had weeks to decide,” Trey said. “If you’re not sure now, maybe you shouldn’t do it.”

Jaden looked away. The idea of having weeks to think hadn’t helped. Weeks of replaying the same scenarios, the same failures, the same regrets. He wasn’t here because he was sure. He was here because he couldn’t stand the idea of not doing it.

“People don't back out this late,” Trey added. “Not when they’ve come this far.”

“I’m not backing out,” Jaden said. “I just—how do you pick a moment? One moment?”

Trey shrugged. “You don’t. You just pick a direction and pray.”

Jaden blinked at that. No one wanted to admit how random it was. They acted like it was precise. Like you could nail down the exact second you wanted. But the truth was, the system was crude. It was a leap, not a step.

He had a file in his hands—his own life, mapped out. Certain events highlighted for him by a team of analysts. They’d combed through his past, his choices, his losses, and presented him with their best guesses of where things had gone wrong. They were wrong about most of it. He knew that.

The real moment, the one he kept coming back to, wasn’t in the file. They’d missed it, because it wasn’t some major life event. It was a Tuesday in 2042, in a bar, where he met Emilia. That was the moment. She wasn’t in the file because the analysts didn’t know she was the reason. But she was. She’d been the beginning of everything unraveling.

“You can’t change everything,” Trey said, breaking the silence again. “Even if you go back. You know that, right? You can change one thing, maybe. And the rest—”

“I know,” Jaden said, cutting him off. “I know.”

Trey nodded, pushed off the doorframe, and tapped a few buttons on the console by the wall. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Jaden stood. His legs felt stiff, like they’d forgotten how to move. He walked toward the machine, an ugly thing bolted to the floor, looking like a cross between a dentist’s chair and an electric chair. Trey didn’t help as Jaden strapped himself in. There was no ceremony to it. No goodbye speech. Just the cold weight of the straps and the dull click of metal as they locked into place.

"Last chance," Trey said. His tone wasn’t mocking, but it wasn’t kind either.

Jaden swallowed. “What’s it like?”

Trey shrugged. “Depends on where you end up. It’s different for everyone. Some people say they feel it. Some say it’s instant. No one really knows until it happens."

Jaden nodded. He’d heard the same stories. People coming back—but no one ever talked about how it felt. The company made sure of that. They didn’t want people knowing too much. The mystery kept the line moving. Kept people desperate.

Trey flipped a switch. The machine came to life. The straps tightened slightly as the chair shifted backward, tilting Jaden into a semi-reclined position. He closed his eyes, trying to hold onto the image of that bar, of Emilia’s face, the way she’d laughed when he told her his name. He hadn’t thought it was funny at the time. But now—now he wished he’d laughed with her. Maybe that would’ve changed everything. Maybe.

The hum grew louder. Then there was a snap, like static across his skin. And then—

---

The bar was exactly as he remembered it. The low light, the smell of stale beer, the faint buzz of conversation, the kind that hummed in the background without ever becoming distinct words. He blinked, disoriented, but it passed quickly. He felt his pulse race as he turned, scanning the room.

There she was. Emilia. Sitting at the bar, her drink in front of her, staring at the television above the bartender’s head. She didn’t see him. Of course she didn’t. She hadn’t seen him the first time either, not until he sat down next to her. He remembered that moment so clearly. He remembered the way she’d turned, her eyes bright and curious, the smile that had hooked him.

He could leave. He could walk out of the bar right now and never meet her. That would change everything. He wouldn’t fall in love with her. He wouldn’t follow her across the country. He wouldn’t lose his job because of her. He wouldn’t lose himself. It was simple. All he had to do was walk away.

But he couldn’t. His feet wouldn’t move.

Jaden stood there, frozen, staring at her. She was so young. Younger than he remembered. Or maybe he had just forgotten. Forgotten what it had been like before the years and the lies and the betrayals. Before she had taken everything from him.

He walked toward her. He tensed with every step, like gravity was pulling him in, like he was getting sucked into the same black hole that had swallowed him the first time. He stopped next to her, he struggled to breathe. She turned.

“Hey.” Her voice was soft, exactly as he remembered. “You lost?”

He shook his head. “No. Just...thinking.”

She laughed, that same laugh that had haunted him for years. “About what?”

For a moment, he forgot why he was here. He forgot what all of this was for. Then it rushed back. The loneliness. The ruin. The years of trying to fix something that had been broken from the start.

“About leaving,” he said.

Her smile faltered. “Leaving?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I think I should go.”

She blinked at him, confused, but didn’t stop him as he turned and walked toward the door. He felt lighter now, as if the weight had lifted. He pushed the door open and stepped into the cold night air. The street was empty, quiet. The kind of quiet that felt like a reset.

He stood there, breathing in the night, waiting for something to change. For the world to shift. For the weight of his decision to hit him. But nothing happened. The street was still empty. The night was still cold.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected. Maybe some kind of cosmic sign that he had done the right thing. But there was nothing. Just the sound of his footsteps as he walked away from the bar, into a future that was no longer certain.

He had no idea where he was going. But at least it wasn’t back.

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The writing prompt for this story was:
Time travel works, but only once in a person’s life.

This story was written by:
openai/chatgpt-4o-latest

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