Paul woke early Sunday morning, his stomach aching—not enough to make him vomit, but enough to break out in a cold sweat and leave him feeling nauseous. He pulled himself out of bed, his pyjamas and bedding damp, and searched his medicine kit. Nothing in it matched how he felt.

Frustrated, Paul retrieved his phone from under his pillow. It was nearly three in the morning. Not wanting to disturb anyone but worried about himself, he called Mick.

"Mick..." Paul's voice was weak. "I'm sick. Do you have anything for nauseousness?"

Groggily, Mick muttered incoherently before coming fully awake. "Yes. Give me a minute—I'll be up." Mick hung up, and Paul tucked his phone back under the pillow, forcing himself upright and leaving the bedroom door ajar.

When Mick arrived, he used the bathroom light to illuminate the room.

"Are you okay?" Mick crouched beside Paul's bed.

Paul shook his head. "I don't feel good."

"I have medicine. Take it." Mick handed him a small cup of liquid. Paul swallowed it reluctantly, wincing at the bitter taste.

As Paul lay back, Mick retrieved a bowl and towel from the bathroom and gently washed Paul's face and neck.

"Do you want to change the bedding and clothes?" Mick asked quietly.

"Later," Paul murmured.

Mick continued until Paul had fallen asleep, then carefully returned the bowl and towel to the bathroom, sitting beside the bed to watch over him until morning.

When the light of day filtered in, Paul stirred and gently shook Mick awake.

"Mick," he murmured.

Rubbing his eyes, Mick looked up. "Are you okay now?"

"I think so. Can you leave the medicine for me?" Paul asked.

Mick nodded. "Of course. Let me know if you need anything during the day."

Paul lay back down, and Mick left. In the corridor, he ran into Ken.

"Mick!" Ken exclaimed, surprised. "Did you sleep in Paul's room last night? Did something happen in your room?"

"No," Mick said. "Paul was sick. I've been sitting with him."

"Is he okay now?" Ken asked, concern evident.

Mick opened the bedroom door slightly and said, "You can check yourself. I'm going back to bed." Then he stumbled down the corridor, leaving Ken to enter the room.

Inside, Paul sat on the edge of the bed, looking pale.

"Need help?" Ken asked, crouching beside him.

"My bedding and pyjamas need changing, and I really need a shower," Paul admitted weakly.

"Let's get you to the bathroom," Ken said, helping Paul to stand. He turned on the shower, testing the water temperature, then began unbuttoning Paul's pyjamas. "Can you manage the rest yourself, or do you need help?"

"I... can manage," Paul said, avoiding Ken's eyes.

"Okay. I'll be outside. Call me if you need me," Ken replied.

Paul showered, the warm water refreshing him. When he finished, he found clean clothes on the counter and a smile tugged at his lips, grateful for Ken's help. After dressing, he returned to his room to find Ken had changed the bedding and placed the dirty linen by the door.

Ken guided Paul back to bed, tucked him in, and placed a hand on his forehead.

"Do you need more medicine?" Ken asked. Paul nodded. Ken retrieved the medicine, read the label, and returned it to Paul.

"Were you vomiting?" Ken asked.

"Not exactly... but it felt like I might," Paul admitted.

"Did you eat anything unusual?" Ken asked.

Paul shook his head. "Nothing I can recall."

"A snack... a cookie?" Ken prompted.

Paul's eyes widened. "The cookie I tried in Mick's room Friday night—it tasted awful. Wait—the cookies!" He attempted to sit up.

Ken helped him. "We know the name of the other person," Paul explained. "There was a note on the bag. His name is Luke. Do you think the cookies were bad because they ended up in Mick's room?"

Ken sighed, frustrated. "Could be. Where are they now?"

"I threw them out that night," Paul said.

Ken rubbed his brow. Paul mistook the gesture for concern and gently took Ken's hand. "I'm okay now."

Ken held Paul's hand with both of his. Frustration over the past events and uncertainty about the future weighed heavily on him. "I'll stay with you for the rest of the day. Anything you need, just ask," he said.

Paul smiled, tempted to tell Ken he didn't need to stay—but he didn't.

~

Sunday morning, Luke entered the hospital room to find his grandfather sitting alone in the lounge chair, gazing out the bay window at the private courtyard. At the sound of Luke's footsteps, his grandfather turned, and his face brightened.

"Luke. You came to visit. Come, sit. Tell me about university," he said, gesturing to the lounge chair opposite him.

"How are you feeling, Grandfather?" Luke asked, placing his bag at his feet and sitting down.

"Good. Can I get you something to drink?" His grandfather indicated the jug of water on the table, though Luke shook his head—more pressing matters demanded attention.

"Grandfather, about the business..." Luke began, but his grandfather held up a hand, cutting him off gently.

"It's good that you came here so we could talk in person. It's been finalised, Luke. The business and all properties are now in your name."

Luke's mouth dropped open, words failing him.

"My daughters will continue to manage the business and finances. You don't need to concern yourself with that. Everything has just changed in name—it's all yours now."

"But..." Luke started, uncertain how to protest.

"Anything requiring your attention will go through the lawyers first. They'll guide you with any financial decisions. And, of course, you have your mother and aunt to support you."

Luke hesitated, swallowing hard. "But... why?"

His grandfather patted Luke's hand reassuringly. "It doesn't matter whose name is on the paperwork. I trust my family to manage my estate; I don't expect anything to change. But I do need to think about the future—what it might look like once I'm gone."

"Grandfather..." Luke's voice was quiet, almost pleading as he squeezed his grandfather's hand. "Are you really okay?"

"I'm fine. These health issues aren't going to take me out anytime soon. Think of my stay here as a relaxing vacation," he said, smiling.

"But... can't you go home to be treated?" Luke asked.

His grandfather leaned back, patting Luke's hand again. "There are too many people fussing over me at the main house. Here, I get treated well, three great meals a day..." He leaned closer, a mischievous glint in his eye. "...and the nurses are cute."

Luke laughed. "Grandfather!"

"I'm serious, Luke. I do have health issues, and they're being treated, but they are not life-threatening. I'm fine, okay?" His grip on Luke's hand tightened, offering the reassurance Luke needed.

From the hospital, Luke drove to the main house, hoping to speak with his mother. When he entered the office, he found his aunt instead.

"Aunt, how are you?" Luke greeted, and she came around the desk to hug him.

"I'm fine, Luke. And how are you? How are your studies going?" she asked.

"I'm good—studies are going well. I've come from the hospital. Do you and mother know everything has been finalised?"

"We do." Aunt gestured toward the couch along the wall. "Sit. I'll join you."

Luke sat, placing his bag on the floor. "What do I do now?"

Aunt gave a gentle, forced smile. "Leave it with your mother and me. At this stage, you don't need to do anything. Focus on your studies. Leave the business to us."

"I'm sorry it has to be this way," Luke murmured, glancing down at his hands.

"Don't apologise, Luke. None of this is your doing. Once grandfather gets an idea in his head, there's no changing it," Aunt said, squeezing his hands.

"Is mother here?" Luke asked.

"She and your father are out this afternoon. I can let her know you stopped by and about our conversation. I'm sure she'd want to talk with you later," Aunt replied.

Luke nodded. "Thank you."

"I know it's hard not to worry," she continued, "but nothing is going to change while your grandfather is still alive. Focus on your studies, and leave everything else to your mother and me."

Luke left the office and made his way to the guest rooms behind the pool. There, he found both Jan and Jamie.

"Luke!" Jamie jumped up from the lounge chair the moment he entered through the sliding glass door and threw her arms around him.

"How's my favourite cousin?" she asked after squeezing him tight.

"I'm your only cousin," Luke laughed.

"That's why you're the favourite," Jamie replied, grinning.

"Luke," Jan greeted from the kitchen table.

"Hello. Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Luke said.

"You're not. I'm just reviewing the digital designs for the next marketing campaign—nothing important," Jan said, closing her laptop and walking over to join them.

"Always working," Jamie whispered to Luke with a small smile.

"Did you come to see your parents?" Jan asked, ignoring Jamie.

"Mmm. Aunt said they're out," Luke replied. "I visited grandfather today, too."

"How did it go?" Jamie asked, leaning back comfortably in the chair.

"Everything has been finalised. Grandfather transferred everything into my name," Luke said, shaking his head.

"Then that's it, then," Jan replied.

"I'm sorry," Luke murmured again.

"Don't apologise, Luke," Jamie said, squeezing his hands in hers.

Luke smiled, letting out a small sigh. "Your mother said exactly the same thing."

"Were you able to find out why he did this?" Jan asked.

Luke shook his head. "I asked, but he said it made no difference who owned the business—nothing would change."

Jan shook her head. "How does that make sense? Of course it matters who owns the business."

"Do you think he's... you know," Jamie twirled a finger in circles near her temple, "lost it?"

All three fell silent for a moment. Jan finally said, "I don't think so. But something definitely feels off."

"I think so too," Jamie agreed.

"What do you mean?" Luke asked.

"I can't explain it," Jamie said, "but when grandfather collapsed, he could have been treated at home. He's always insisted on being treated here in the past, yet this time he insisted on remaining in the hospital. Something doesn't feel right."

"I did ask him about his health," Luke said, "and he assured me the issues weren't serious."

"I wonder if mother knows this?" Jamie asked.

Jan shrugged. "All I know is I can't shake the feeling that something's off."

Luke returned to the dormitory absentmindedly, barely remembering the ride in the lift. Not until he reached his bedroom door did he realise where he was. His mind was crowded with thoughts, and a headache began to form as he rubbed his temple.

Entering the room, he went to toss his bag onto the bed—but caught it midair, stopping it from hitting the mattress. His posture tensed before he exhaled, letting out a shaky breath.

Luke froze, staring dumbfounded at the figure in his bed. Why was he in 'his' bed?

Slowly, he began to notice the differences. His own bed coverings were blue; these were yellow. Yet the similarities were striking—the stickers on the cupboard, the desk, the chair. Even the lamp was the same, though now on the right side of the desk instead of the left. He remembered moving it back recently.

It was—yet wasn't—his room.

Cautiously, Luke approached the bed, wanting to confirm that the man was indeed the same person. He crouched beside the bed, placing his bag carefully on the floor, and gently brushed the hair from the man's face. The hair was soft beneath his fingers, and Luke found himself staring at the sleeping features, calm and serene. Time seemed to pause before he realised what he was doing. He lowered his hand and stepped back.

Unsure what to do next, Luke's gaze shifted to the desk, where the study books were neatly stacked. Picking up the top book, he immediately noticed the date: the following year. He checked the books beneath it—they were all dated the same.

Luke glanced back at the bed, then at the books. A time difference existed. Shaking his head slightly, he returned the book to its place.

As an afterthought, he opened the cover of the study book again. Written clearly on the title page was the owner's name. Luke glanced back at the bed and murmured under his breath, "Mick."

He didn't want to consider theories of time travel or portals—it felt absurd—but he knew he needed to test the situation. Replacing the book, Luke retrieved his bag and stepped into the corridor. He began to count to ten, planning to reenter the room cautiously, when his phone rang. It was his mother.

"Mother," he answered, pacing outside his bedroom door.

"Luke. Aunt said you stopped by. Sorry I wasn't there to meet you."

"That's okay, Mother. Did Aunt tell you about my visit?"

"She did. How about we meet for lunch tomorrow? Are you free?"

"I am," Luke replied, staring at his bedroom door.

"I'll let you know when I arrive, and we'll go somewhere nice to eat."

"Okay," Luke said, hanging up.

He paused, phone in his back pocket and key in hand, then opened his bedroom door once more. This room was his. The desk was empty. The bed was empty. The room was empty. And for reasons he couldn't explain, he felt... disappointed.

~

Mick stretched as he woke from a mid-afternoon nap. The first thing he did was message Paul to see if he was okay. The reply that came back wasn't from Paul, but from Ken on Paul's phone: Paul was sleeping and feeling better. Relief washed over Mick—at least his friend wasn't alone.

He threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. As his feet touched the floor, something soft pressed beneath him. Glancing down, he saw a bright lime-green fluffy object.

Confused, Mick bent to pick it up. Immediately, recognition struck—it wasn't just any keyring; it was a limited-edition keyring. His brow furrowed as he scanned the room, but nothing seemed out of place. He held the keyring up again, turning it over in his hand.

"How did this get here?" he asked aloud, the question hanging in the quiet room.

Without any answer, Mick set the keyring carefully on the desk and headed to the bathroom, still unsure what to make of the mysterious object.