What happens when perception bends beyond time? A concept that stirs the imagination—and reality may never be the same.
Inspired by the writing prompt concept from Half Baked Prompts on Bluesky of “Near-sighted in four dimensions,” this idea invited me to explore time, perception, and unintended consequences.
I leaned into the concept of fragmented realities and subtle shifts, blending everyday moments with layers of the surreal. This piece plays with the delicate balance between choice and fate—where the ordinary and the extraordinary swirl together.
Chapter & Latte
Alex stared at the cup.
It was perfect. Smooth, velvety, with just the right bitterness. But the last line of the book echoed in their mind:
“…and that’s when everything goes horribly wrong.”
“Nope,” Alex muttered, setting the cup down like it was a ticking bomb. “Not today.”
But it was too late.
Time is Unraveling
Chapter & Latte felt… different.
The indie playlist was off—the same songs kept looping, but in the wrong order. The scent of cinnamon and ink felt heavier in the air. The light filtering through the windows had a golden hue, but it didn’t feel quite real.
And then Alex noticed it.
The barista was moving backward.
Foam unswirled from the espresso as the milk returned to the pitcher. A spoon stirred in reverse, and a customer’s tip clinked back into their pocket.
“Okay…” Alex blinked. “That’s… weird.”
They glanced at their bag.
The book.
It pulsed faintly, like an impatient heartbeat.
“Don’t.” Alex’s hand was already moving. “Just walk away.”
But curiosity won.
Déjà Vu with Foam
Alex flipped the book open.
“Alex opens the book.”
They slammed it shut. “Seriously?”
The words had updated before Alex even acted. The pages weren’t just narrating—they were predicting.
“Okay. Maybe I’m dreaming. Or hallucinating.” Alex grabbed the cup again. “Too much caffeine.”
But the latte was… wrong.
Lukewarm. The foam had dissolved, leaving a watery bitterness behind.
Alex set it down again, trying not to panic.
“Fix it,” they whispered.
But when they flipped back to the book…
“Time is unraveling, Alex. You might want to fix that.”
“Great.”
The World’s Oldest Librarian
Alex paced near the Lost Thoughts & Misplaced Ideas shelf, muttering under their breath.
“Okay. Finish the latte? No. Return the book? Maybe. Burn it? Feels a little dramatic…”
“Talking to yourself again?”
Alex jumped.
Quinn, the barista, was leaning against the counter, watching them with mild concern. Their apron was dusted with cinnamon and their eyes had the look of someone who’d been awake a little too long.
“Déjà vu?” Alex asked.
Quinn frowned. “What?”
“Never mind.”
But Alex noticed Quinn’s gaze lingered a little too long on the foam in the cup.
“Foam acting weird again?” Alex asked, half-joking.
Quinn didn’t smile. “You ever get the feeling,” they murmured, “like… déjà vu, but with more foam?”
Alex blinked.
Quinn shook it off, returning to the espresso machine. “Never mind. I need sleep.”
Return the Book
Alex needed answers.
Mr. Finch.
The world’s oldest librarian. His glasses were thicker than the plot of a Russian novel, and rumor had it he’d been alive since the invention of ink.
If anyone knew how to fix time loops and rogue lattes, it was him.
“Mr. Finch?”
The old man didn’t look up.
“You broke the timeline, didn’t you?”
Alex blinked. “How did you—?”
“Dear, this is Chapter & Latte.” Finch gestured vaguely at the shelves. “Time’s been misbehaving here for years.”
“Years?” Alex glanced at the barista, who was now mid-sneeze, frozen like a glitch in a game. “Does this… happen often?”
“Define ‘often.’” Finch finally looked up, his eyes twinkling behind impossibly thick lenses. “Time’s like a cappuccino, Alex. Stir too much, and the foam collapses. Take too long, and it cools. But sometimes…” He tapped his temple. “You get the perfect sip. And that’s when things go wrong.”
Alex’s stomach dropped. “So… how do I fix it?”
Finch smiled, but there was something sad in it.
“Oh, it’s simple.”
Alex exhaled. “Great. Lay it on me.”
“You have to return the book… before you ever checked it out.”
The End. For Now.
“Wait. What?”
“Return it.” Finch’s tone was gentle, but his expression was serious. “Undo the moment it came into your hands. Restore balance.”
Alex glanced at the book. It buzzed softly, like it was aware.
“And what happens if I don’t?”
“Time unravels.” Finch’s smile faded. “Slow at first. Then… not so slow.”
Alex’s mind raced.
Return the book. Undo it all.
But if they did…
“Will I forget everything?” Alex’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“Possibly.” Finch didn’t sugarcoat it. “Memories… tend to be casualties in these situations.”
Alex swallowed hard. Forget the book. Forget the weird time loops. Forget…
The perfect latte.
Epilogue: Ripples in the Foam
But there was something Finch wasn’t saying.
“Why are you helping me?” Alex asked softly.
Finch’s gaze dropped to the worn edges of the book. His fingers traced the spine with something that looked a lot like regret.
“Because once… I tried to fix something.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Thought I could outsmart time.”
“What happened?”
Finch’s jaw clenched.
“I lost more than I saved.”
Alex’s heart pounded as they approached the return counter.
The book pulsed in their hands, almost like it was resisting.
“Last chance to back out,” Finch said softly.
“Not this time.”
Alex set the book down.
The moment the book hit the counter, the world snapped back into place.
The barista was pouring milk.
No reversing. No weird loops. Just… normal.
“Latte for Alex?”
Alex blinked.
The barista was holding out a fresh cup.
Alex hesitated. “Is it…?”
“Fresh,” the barista said with a grin. “Just made it.”
Alex took a cautious sip.
It was good. Not perfect. But good.
And for once, that was enough.
The air smelled like cinnamon and old books again. The playlist played in the right order. The universe… felt balanced.
Alex glanced at the return counter. The book was gone.
No spoilers. No perfect lattes. Just… normal life.
As they walked toward the door, something tugged at the edge of Alex’s mind. A feeling, a memory… just out of reach.
They shook it off. Probably nothing.
But Mr. Finch watched them go, a knowing glint in his eye.
“Some memories,” he murmured softly, “aren’t meant to stay.”
(c) Eric Montgomery
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