❝If I could time travel, I would choose to go back in time.
To stop heart from falling in love, to save myself from breaking down.❞ 
— Devleena Hazarika

“Here goes nothing,” the brunette sighed as she sailed the large orange bubbled envelope. She isn’t the type to believe in the alternative in life – like the supernatural or time traveling, ectara. But there her therapist went, telling her to take a chance – to do something that could potentially fix her life.

Skeptical.

That was the right word to use on her. That is what she was – and still is.

“Is there something that you regret?”

Was there?

There was so much in life that Nami regretted. There was so much in life that she wished she could fix that didn’t give her a mindset that… would be unbearably sad. Sure, she was loved. She was well off. She had everything in this lifetime – but happiness. Something that gave her joy was no longer in her life.

“Is there something you want to fix? Something you regret in your past life?”

Her eyes were fixated on her friend – her therapist. Of course, there’s something she wants to fix. If she fixed that, maybe she wouldn’t be as depressed and sad about life as she is now. She wouldn’t be leading an unhappy life just for the heck of it. She went into momentary silence, eyes fixated on nothing in particular. The floor, maybe. The little marble tiles are so much more interesting that anything than her therapist right now. “Yes,” she breathed, inhaling deeply while her eyes still trained on the marble tiles. “yes, there is.” When she looked up, her therapist – her friend – held a smile that made her think that he was the Cheshire Cat. It terrified her, the smile. Did he have something up his sleeve? Why did he ask her if there was something she regretted or wanted to fix? “Na,” he called out, closing the little notebook with his pen tucked in it. His glasses rested on the bridge of his nose as he shifted in his seat. “What if I told you that I can help you with that?” The brunette furrowed her brows. She should have known that he indeed has something up his sleeve.

“How?”

“Have you ever considered writing letters to your past self?” He asked. “Write letters to the past self where you knew that things were going to change for good? Where you know, in that moment, that it will be your biggest regret and it led you to this moment. Right now.”

She didn’t get it.  

“Myeon, that’s impossible.” She retorted, her legs crossed at the knees and her arm displaced on the arm rests. “You want me to write letters to my past self, but we’re here in the present. I can’t just go back and fix everything just because I wrote letters to my past self.”  

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” he said. He rolled his eyes as he stood from his seat. He glided to his desk; his second drawer displayed before him as he pulled out a device. To her, it seemed like one of those older phones – the Sidekick phones. But when he twirled it in his hand, it was simply a screen with a button in it. He walked back to her with the device, holding it out to her. “I want you to take this.”

The envelope was tucked firmly under her arm as she walked to the destination that her therapist and friend had instructed her to go – just to drop off the envelope. He had given her specific instructions until she was ready to make this a habit. She could feel the device he had given her in the envelope. That little lump letting her know that it could slide right out from under her arm.

“And I want you to record yourself.”

“Record myself?” She repeated. More to confirm it to herself, and he nodded. She stared at the device in her hand. The screen having picked up an imprint of her fingerprint. “Record a message to your past self. Let your past self know what you want need fixed so you don’t end up the way you are, and you won’t have to come visit me for therapy sessions three times a week.” Of course, there was a playful grin on his lips. She rolled her eyes with a scoff that matched his