Hey—It’s Toffer.
I got back from my run at 6:02.
Shoes off by the door. Shirt on the chair.
Mate in the cup. Steam rising. Body cooling down.
The coffee machine blinked at me.
I pressed the button. Not for me.
She walked in three seconds later.
“You already did?”
“Of course.”
She took the mug like it belonged to her before it even existed.
Didn’t smile.
That’s love now. Buttons.
The girl—six—was curled up on the couch.
Purple bear under one arm.
My book in her lap. Upside down. Obviously.
Finger tracing each line like she was reading it.
Not reading, but doing something better—believing she could.
She turned the page backwards.
Didn’t flinch.
Down the hall—
he emerged like a sketch made of movement and sleep.
Shoes on. Bag ready. Hair still damp from the quick shower.
Twelve is still mostly sunlight.
He passed the abandoned painting—still leaned, still drying, still mine.
“You’re not done with that?”
I didn’t look up.
“There’s no more wall.”
He paused.
Nodded once.
“As it should be.”
And kept walking.
He kissed his sister’s head on the way out.
She ignored it professionally.
Then kissed his mom’s cheek—
the kind of kiss that looks casual if you don’t know what to look for.
She didn’t react. But she shifted her weight.
That’s her version of holding it.
At the door—
“Text me if you miss it.”
He waved without turning.
Three blocks to the bus.
He likes walking early.
He likes walking alone.
Dining table.
Notebook open.
Call sheet to the left. Notes to the right.
It’s not my set today.
But it’s my story.
Scene 4A:
INT. LAB – DAY – EVERYTHING BREAKS.
Circled.
Again.
Back in the living room—
she flipped the book over.
“That’s you.”
I nodded.
She studied the back cover like it might blink.
“You wrote it?”
“All the upside-down parts.”
She nodded back.
Turned the page again.
Still upside down. Still fully committed.
That’s my girl.
The mate was cooling.
The house wasn’t quiet anymore.
But it was good.
Everyone was just getting ready.
Me?
Already halfway into the day I used to only imagine.
A little strange. A little perfect.
Like a painting you didn’t plan—just kept returning to.
Still surprises me.
In the best way.
Your Friend in Time,
Toffer
P.S. Five years from now already exists. Write it like memory. Dress it in details. Follow it back, one morning at a time—until your life starts to look like you meant it.