The decision did not come all at once.
Elior did not wake up and declare that he would leave the country, as if it were a dramatic revelation or a last stand against fate. The idea formed slowly, over hours and then days, settling into him the way a conclusion does when all other options have been exhausted.
He sat at the kitchen table on the second morning after the reset, notebook open in front of him, pen resting unused between his fingers. Sunlight streamed through the window, warm and unremarkable. Aria had already left for work, kissing his cheek absentmindedly, unaware that this version of him was carrying memories she would never share.
Elior stared at the page where he had written the same sentence again and again.
I was standing there again.
He underlined it. Then circled it. Then stared at it until the words felt detached from meaning.
"It's the place," he muttered to himself. "Not me. It has to be the place."
If the world ended only when he was there, then leaving it behind should matter. Distance should matter. Geography should matter. Reality was built on cause and effect, not inevitability.
That was what he told himself.
He opened his laptop and searched for flights.
At first, he treated it like a thought experiment. Just to see what was available. Just to understand his options. He told himself that if nothing felt right, he would close the tab and forget the idea entirely.
But the list of destinations filled the screen anyway. Cities he had never been to. Countries whose languages he did not speak. Places far enough away that the idea of standing on that same street corner again felt impossible.
His chest loosened slightly as he scrolled.
He picked one without much thought. Somewhere far. Somewhere ordinary. Somewhere that did not carry any emotional weight. He did not want meaning attached to the choice. He wanted neutrality.
The purchase confirmation email arrived seconds later.
Elior stared at it, surprised by how fast it had happened.
For the first time since the loop began, he smiled.
When Aria came home that evening, she immediately sensed something different.
"You look lighter," she said as she dropped her bag by the door. "Did something good happen?"
Elior hesitated, then nodded. "I made a decision."
She raised an eyebrow. "That sounds serious."
He gestured toward the couch, and they sat together. The space between them felt easier tonight, less strained by unspoken tension.
"I'm taking a short trip," he said. "Just for a few days."
Her expression shifted, confusion replacing relief. "A trip? Where?"
"Out of the country."
She blinked. "That's not a short trip."
"It is if I don't overthink it," he replied. "I just need some space. A reset."
She studied him carefully. "You didn't mention this before."
"I didn't know until today," Daniel said honestly. "I think… I think being here is making everything worse."
Aria leaned back slightly. "So you're running away."
He flinched. "No. I'm clearing my head."
She sighed, rubbing her temple. "Daniel, you've been distant, paranoid, exhausted, and now you want to leave without warning. Do you hear how that sounds?"
"I know," he said quietly. "But I need to do this."
"For you, or to escape something?"
The question landed harder than she intended.
Elior met her eyes. "If I stay, I'm going to lose my mind. If I go, maybe I won't."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Aria nodded. "Okay. When?"
"Tomorrow."
She exhaled sharply. "Of course it's tomorrow."
"I'll be back before you know it," he said. "It's not permanent."
She looked unconvinced, but she did not argue further. "Just promise you'll call."
"I promise."
The next day passed in a blur.
Packing felt surreal, like preparing for a future he was not convinced would exist. Every object he placed in his bag carried a strange weight, as if he were deciding which version of himself deserved to survive.
At the airport, the world felt louder and more vivid than usual. Announcements echoed overhead. Wheels rolled across tile floors. Conversations overlapped in a dozen languages.
Elior welcomed the noise. It grounded him.
As the plane lifted off, he pressed his forehead against the window and watched the city shrink beneath him. Streets turned into lines. Buildings flattened into patterns.
There it is, he thought. Getting smaller. Losing its hold on me.
He did not realize how tightly he had been holding his breath until the city vanished into cloud cover.
The first few days abroad were the closest thing to peace he had felt in weeks.
The city he arrived in was unfamiliar but welcoming, full of narrow streets and open cafes. People moved with an ease he envied, unconcerned with deadlines or endings.
Elior walked for hours, letting himself get lost. He tried local food. He sat in parks and listened to conversations he could not understand. He allowed himself to exist without anticipation.
At night, he slept deeply.
No dreams of green skies. No pressure. No sense of wrongness.
On the fifth day, he called Aria.
"You sound better," she said immediately.
"I feel better," he replied. "I think I needed this."
"I'm glad," she said, though there was something cautious in her tone. "When are you coming back?"
"After the seventh day," he said without thinking.
She paused. "The seventh day of what?"
"Of the trip," Elior corrected quickly. "I just meant the full week."
She accepted the answer, but he could hear the hesitation.
When the seventh day arrived, Elior woke with a familiar tension in his chest.
It was not panic. Not yet. Just awareness.
He checked the time. Early morning. Too early for anything to happen, if it was going to happen at all.
He spent the day deliberately avoiding the sky. He stayed indoors during the brightest hours, wandering museums and cafes, surrounding himself with walls and ceilings.
By afternoon, he felt foolish.
Nothing had happened. Nothing felt wrong.
The pressure never came.
Elior sat by the river as the sun dipped lower, watching light ripple across the water. For the first time since the loop began, he allowed himself to imagine a future that extended beyond the end.
Maybe the location really was everything.
Maybe distance broke the pattern.
Maybe he had done it.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He frowned and pulled it out.
Aria's name lit up the screen.
He answered immediately. "Hey."
Her voice sounded strained. "Elior, I didn't want to worry you, but I didn't know who else to call."
His stomach tightened. "What's wrong?"
"It's my sister," she said. "She was in a minor accident. She's okay, but she's shaken, and I can't reach anyone else right now."
Elior sat up straighter. "Is she hurt?"
"No. Just scared. She asked for me."
"I'm far away," he said slowly.
"I know," Aria replied. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
He closed his eyes.
There it was.
The world had not dragged him back. It had simply presented a reason.
"I'll figure something out," he said. "Stay with her. I'll call you back."
When the call ended, Elior stared at the water, heart pounding.
He was still abroad. The sky was still normal. Nothing had forced his hand.
And yet the path ahead of him was suddenly clear.
If he stayed, he would abandon someone he loved when she needed him.
If he left, he would be choosing responsibility. Decency. Care.
The thought that this might be exactly how it always happened made his chest ache.
"I'm choosing this," he whispered.
And for the first time, he was not sure whether that made him brave or doomed.