The sound of the door opening snapped Steve out of his reverie. He froze, his heart pounding as he heard footsteps approaching.
He slammed the door shut. Looking around the corner, he saw a woman with long, dark hair in the living room.
"Who are you? And what are you doing in my house?"
The woman turned, her eyes wide with shock.
"Who am I? I'm the one who should be asking . This is my house."
Steve stared at her, his gaze sweeping the room, taking in the unusual furniture and decorations.
She took a step toward him.
"I don't know who you are or where you came from, but this has been my house for five years."
"Listen, I don't know what's going on here, but I'm telling you the truth, this is my house. I've lived here for years."
He gestured around the room.
"That lamp in the corner? I bought it 11 years ago. It has a horse motif on the bottom. The rug? It was a gift from my grandmother when I first moved in here . You'll find some burn marks on it."
Steve took a deep breath and began leading her around the house, pointing out every flaw and every feature only he knew about.
"Do you see that crack in the ceiling?"
he said, pointing upwards.
"And there," he indicated a spot on the wall, "there's a loose brick behind that panel. I've always want to fix it."
When they entered the bedroom, Steve paused at the closet door.
He reached for the handle, hesitating for a moment before opening it.
Inside the closet, Steve revealed a hidden compartment. He reached in and pulled out an old, leather-bound notebook the same one he had written in for years.
"This is the proof,"
he held out the notebook to her.
"My memories, all in my own handwriting, Read it if you don't believe me."
The woman took the notebook hesitantly, and as she flipped through the pages, her expression gradually shifted from doubt to disbelief.
"I... I don't understand,"
she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
"If what you're saying is true... then...?"
Steve sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair.
"I don't know, but I know this is my home, and I'm not going anywhere."
"Tell me, when were you born?"
Steve hesitated for a moment.
"April 12, 1985. I'm supposed to be 35 this year."
The woman's eyes widened in shock. She took a step back, the notebook slipping from her fingers and falling to the floor.
"How is even possible?.. According to the records, this house was abandoned in 2020."
"I had an accident in 2020. A truck hit me while I was waiting for the bus. I ended up in a coma for 6 months, and when I woke up, I found myself here."
The woman listened intently, her face pale and shocked. When Steve finished speaking, she sat up on the bed, her legs trembling.
"That means..."
"Yes..., time travel.."