Julia woke up feeling like someone had replaced her brain with a microwave full of bees.
Her face was stuck to a desk. A desk that smelled faintly of pencil shavings, vanilla lip balm, and generational trauma.
There was a smear of drool across a paper titled "Postmodernism and the End of Meaning," and someone had doodled what looked like a very buff alien riding a skateboard in the margin.
'What the hell...'
She sat up slowly, the room tilting like a funhouse on low power.
Around her, students were scribbling notes, passing gum, and ignoring a monotone professor who was delivering a lecture like someone had tranquilized his soul.
Julia blinked at the overhead lights.
Then blinked again.
Because everything was wrong.
The desks were wood. The chalkboard was real. The laptop she always brought to work was nowhere. Her coat was gone, replaced by—oh god—a mustard yellow knit sweater and high-waisted jeans that fit like denim armor.
She looked down at her hands.
Smaller.
More polished.
Nails painted with chipped deep red polish.
And on her wrist—a scrunchie.
A. Scrunchie.
"Oh no," she whispered, heart thudding.
She slowly turned to the window, hoping to catch her reflection in the glass, and—
"NOPE. Nope, nope, nope," she whispered louder.
Staring back at her was her own face. Except… not exactly. A little softer. A little more vintage. A little more, Lindsay.
She looked exactly like the old college photo her mother kept tucked into the mirror frame at home.
The one where her mother was beaming with a too-big smile and a head full of voluminous early-90s hair.
That was the face looking back at her now.
"Am I my mother?" she hissed.
From across the room, someone glanced over. "You good, Lindsay?"
Julia froze.
She couldn't breathe.
She was in her mother's body.
In the '90s.
Wearing Mom Jeans™ and a confused expression.
She stood up way too fast, accidentally launching a pencil case across the room. It hit a guy square in the shoulder. "Whoa, chill," he said, brushing glittery eraser shrapnel off his Letterman jacket.
Julia scrambled to the door, muttering, "I need—I gotta—air—uhh—"
She flung the door open—
And straight into a full-blown hallway riot.
"HE'S GOT THE SNAKE AGAIN!"
A shriek erupted from the other end of the corridor.
Seconds later, a guy with eyeliner, combat boots, and a tattered Cure t-shirt came tearing down the hallway like he was in an exorcism-themed musical.
Wrapped around his neck was a snake. A real, living, surprisingly chill snake.
"I HAVE SEEN THROUGH TIME AND IT'S ALL FLANNEL!" he yelled, flinging glitter like salt over his shoulder.
Behind him, the chaos followed.
A girl in a tutu and combat boots holding a butterfly net.
A guy on rollerblades with a walkman duct-taped to his chest, blasting Alanis Morissette.
And another dude dressed like a Victorian vampire, wielding a neon pool noodle as if it were a sacred relic.
"SOMEONE STOP LUCIAN!" someone yelled. "HE'S FEEDING THE SNAKE CHEETOS AGAIN!""THOSE AREN'T EVEN NATURAL!"
Lucian skidded to a stop when he saw Julia.
"You," he gasped, pointing dramatically. "You look like someone who understands the concept of multiple timelines."
Julia blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"Do you know your soul signature?" he asked, stepping closer, snake eyes gleaming. "You have powerful ancestor energy, like Madonna-level."
"I—what?"
"You've been here before," he said solemnly, pulling a crystal from his sock. "In the vibes."
Then he kazoo'd at her. Not aggressively. Just meaningfully.
Julia slowly backed up. "Okay. No more hallway."
She turned around, walked straight back into the classroom, and sat down at her desk like none of that just happened.
The guy next to her leaned over. "Wild Thursday, huh?"
"I think I peed a little," Julia said honestly.
Somewhere deep in her brain, a door had opened.
She didn't know how she had gotten here. She didn't know why. But something told her this wasn't just a dream.
This was the past. And she was her mother. And that emo snake guy might weirdly be her spirit guide.
A few moments passed. The professor, blissfully unaware of the cosmic chaos unfolding, continued droning on. The guy next to Julia was scratching something into his notebook. Julia tried to focus, but all she could hear were the words you've been here before and the vibes echoing in her head.
She glanced around. The room seemed normal. Not normal-normal, but as normal as an artsy university class could be. Posters for indie bands were taped to the walls. Someone was sipping coffee from a thermos that looked suspiciously like it had never been washed. But it was real. It was tangible. And somehow, even with all the chaos, it felt comfortable.
It was so… her mom. Or, at least, the version of her mom who was still young and full of wide-eyed wonder before everything unraveled.
The girl in front of her twirled a pen, whispering to herself. "I'm definitely going to drop this class. Philosophy of art? What is that even? I could be—"
She froze, staring at Julia's face. "Wait. You look just like her."
Julia blinked. "Like who?"
She pointed. "Like Lindsay. I swear, I thought you were a freshman."
Julia's mind went into a rapid spin.
"Lindsay… that's… that's me. Oh God."
She had to get out of here. This wasn't just some weird lucid dream. This was her life. As Lindsay. In college. Surrounded by strange creatures wearing corduroys and claiming to have "seen through time."
A sinking feeling in her stomach confirmed it: this was real. Or at least as real as a time travel crisis could get.
She cleared her throat. "Yeah, I'm Lindsay," she said with as much confidence as she could muster. "Definitely a freshman. Totally normal. No supernatural snake people in my future."
The girl gave her an odd look but nodded. "Sure. Anyway, good luck, 'Lindsay.'"
Julia slumped down in her seat, her hands clammy, but her brain buzzing with the overwhelming realization that she had no idea what she was doing here, in her mom's life, in the past.
How the hell am I supposed to survive a day as my mom?
Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw him. Victor.
And for a moment, the world quieted. His presence felt like the start of something significant.
Maybe this wasn't just about time travel. Maybe it was about finding the answers—
But then Lucian ran past the window again, now on a skateboard, and yelled, "I BECAME ONE WITH THE SNAKE!"
And, well, Julia decided that maybe finding answers could wait.