Nobody knew how long I searched for him or how many days I spent walking around in that damned hallway waiting for the bump to happen again.

It didn't.

And today, I decided that if the bump doesn't happen, I'm calling it quits, assuming that I somehow made a misstep during that day, and forget about this. I mean, I could just search for him during class but I needed to be sure that the bump was really a valid event and not just wishful thinking. I needed to know that I was not putting my hope on something that would vanish just as quickly.

I walked the way to school, evading the usual obstacles and found a new purpose in walking in the gravelly path. It's not just a matter of avoiding Travis anymore. It's to find the mystery guy and prove that I was not going crazy.

The crunch made by my shoes slapping on gravel was enough to remind me of the reason I am doing this. I needed to be prepared when it actually happened. I needed to be quick with my reaction. I don't know the exact second it happened but I do know it would happen as soon as I was past the girls talking about phone models.

I pushed the emergency exit doors and walked briskly inside. I gasped and slowed my pace. It needed to be exactly like that day. I even wore my hoodie and track pants again.

I walked the same path I long ago memorized and peeled my eyes for a blue and red flannel. I ducked as the jockeys did the brotherhood clasp. Anytime now.

The girls. They were a few feet away. Don't slow down. Walk the same way as before. Here goes nothing.

A blur of blue and red.

I lashed forward with my hand and grabbed an arm. It was an arm clad in a blue and red flannel sleeve. I did it.

My heart pounded in my ears as I slowly lifted my eyes past the flannel, the maroon undershirt, and the smooth neck. My breath caught when our eyes locked. He was here. I found him.

And I couldn't believe how ordinary he was. He had brown hair that fell past his eyes in straight, flat locks, colliding with glasses almost as large as mine. His ears stuck out of the sides of his head like errant antennae and hints of stubble were visible from his upper lip and on his chin.

He stared at me with confusion, his lips partially open. His eyes, a dark shade of brown that was almost black without any light hitting it, searched mine for answers I'm not sure I could give. My heart skipped a beat not because he's hot or anything, but because he's right here.

He was here. I found him. The ticket out of the loop was in my hands.

I kept my hand clasped around his arm. There's no way I was going to let him go. Not when I was so close to my dream. I blew a breath and realized that he's still looking at me.

"Hey, can you let go?" he said, his voice not that deep and not that shrill either. "I'm gonna be late for the first period."

I stopped myself from smiling slyly and replying, I am too, genius. He kept looking back to people that were probably his classmates now entering the rooms.

I looked up at him and smiled. "What's your name?"

He knitted his eyebrows, like he couldn't figure out the situation he was in. "Rom," he said, flat as a pancake. "I really have to go."

I sighed. Rom. So that's his name. I suppose I could call this a day. I learned something valuable. Perhaps it's enough.

I smiled at him again, forcing my brain to remember his face. He's going to be wearing the same clothes tomorrow so it's going to be easier. I'll just find him again and learn what's been going on with him. Maybe, on a good day, I'll find out the answer as to why he was the one that could get me out of this loop.

I loosened my grip on his arm and he shrugged me off harshly.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," I said.

He snorted as he turned to go. "What's tomorrow?"

The bell rang for the first period and the noise of shuffling clothes and heavy footsteps filled my ears. Rom vanished among the throng of students flitting away to their classrooms like butterflies looking for flowers to pollinate.

I stood still, watching his blue and red flannel mix with a haze of colors brighter than it. It's a beautiful discord and somewhere in that sea of faces and repeating lives was someone who had the ability to change his life and had already changed mine.

Remembering that Mr. Wilcox, my Trigonometry and first period teacher, hated latecomers, I turned and sprinted to my classroom the fastest I could.

Art class was the only one I looked forward to during my time in school because first, I love art and second, it's the last period.

I stared at my canvas bearing Rom's face drawn in sketchy pencil lines. It's not quite him but I was getting there. I just need to remember more.

In the span of two hours, I've been distracted several times by students sliding the glass door open to go out of the room. I caught myself staring at the stash of dusty extra canvases pushed into the corner. I forced myself to focus every time I started wondering what kind of hue I would get if I mixed the contents of the half-used paints scattered by the students' feet.

Newspapers were scattered around our painting areas and I found myself reading the daily headlines that never change. Even from the wooden walls of my Art classroom, the reset managed to haunt me.

I'm a beginner in art when I first started remembering. I don't know anything about it. But over time, I polished my skills enough to be able to finish a painting in under two hours. Given that I have to worry about the loop erasing more of my progress on something, I suppose it's a useful skill.

However, at this moment, as Rom's hollow penciled eyes stared back at me, I found that I couldn't quite finish this painting at all or ever. I couldn't bring myself to continue and it scared me that I don't know the reason why.

I tore my eyes from the canvas and instead focused on the window. Should I paint trees instead? But I did that twenty times already! I've gotten twenty different replies from Mr. Turner about how evocative the way I did my leaves was.

What would happen if I finished painting Rom's face during class? I'd probably get a few minute's worth of teasing and a whole evening of propagating rumors about me having a crush on Rom but as soon as the reset happens, it would all be gone. That's it.

I dragged my eyes at Rom's sketch again. The lines I scratched on the canvas were nothing but gentle, like how I've been sketching all this time. I ran my thumb on my eraser's surface, grateful that the developing searing pain in my skin was enough to distract me from my roiling thoughts.

Why couldn't I finish painting Rom's face? Probably because I was afraid that he might be too real. I was scared that he was real and that he might really be my way out. I clicked my tongue and ran my eraser on the whole canvas, cursing myself for even thinking of painting a boy I just met.

The dismissal bell rang and the students collectively stood up to gather their things. I cast a wary eye around at their works. Even those were the same, up to the progress they made. Someone would stretch and yawn. Someone would whine about the requirements they still have to pass. Someone would shout for others to start cleaning. Someone would sneak out of the door to avoid being tagged as a cleaner.

They all happened without fail.

I sighed as I stood up and shouldered my bag. I was about to leave when Mr. Turner called my name like he always does at the end of the class.

"Jule?"

I turned to face him, staring at my canvas, empty and white, except for a few faded pencil marks I haven't finished erasing completely. This was the first time I turned up empty handed in Mr. Turner's class when usually, I was the first one to finish. I admit that I was kind of curious about what he was going to say if I ended up painting nothing for his class.

He regarded my canvas silently before placing a hand on my shoulder. "Sometimes the art we are looking for is trapped in our hearts awaiting their release," he said. "They are caged by either fear, doubt, guilt, or shame. Which one do you think you have?"

My head snapped to Mr. Turner's face. Up until now, I haven't really looked at anyone without much thought. I never knew that Mr. Turner's hair was not completely blond, but rather the color of honey. I noticed the lines on his forehead and that he wasn't as young as I thought he was. He's...as real as he was.

I whipped back to the canvas yet again. If not for the loop, everyone in this world, even Mr. Turner would have real lives ahead of him and not just a repeat of everything. And if I get out of this loop, if I make a life for myself, what would become of him?

Then suddenly, a thought struck. I laughed in surprise that made Mr. Turner knitted his eyebrows.

So that's how it's going to be, huh?

I faced Mr. Turner again and nodded. "Seems like I have all four," I admitted. "But I found a way to work through them and make my dreams come true as well."

Mr. Turner raised a confused eyebrow. "What dream is that, Jule?"

I winked at him and hoped he wouldn't take offense. "It's a secret," I said, laying my finger to my lips.

I left Mr. Turner like that, standing still with a befuddled expression on his face. I let the sliding door slam into the frame as I stepped out, my thoughts already roiling in my head.

I realized that the way out of this loop was to be real. It's a stretch, I know. But I noticed that everyone around me has been living a superficial life of repeated patterns without even noticing it. They weren't real. It's like they're just put there by a Hollywood director because the set needs extras to build a scene.

And Rom, he's just another one of those extras.

The walk home was quick when my mind whirled with thoughts and with the things I have learned recently. I found a way out and I knew how. The only thing left to do was to make it happen.

What makes someone real? It's a question I needed to answer first.

Someone was real when they have dreams, fears, or even just a hint of emotion. Someone was real when they strive to connect to someone they haven't connected before. Someone was real when they have memories, when they could remember, when they have both a past and a future.

Someone was real when they were as human as they could be.

I didn't bother walking all the way home, stopping in my tracks in the middle of the street. I needed to write all of this down before the reset took me. I took out a small journal from my bag and began writing. I couldn't let this milestone memory go unrecorded.

Entry 567. Nobody knew how long I searched for him.

My pen scratched against the yellowish paper, my ears partially listening to the noises of television emanating from the Lawsons. The couple spent every morning quarreling about their marriage issues and I memorized every line of it. There was a day when I even bought popcorn and hung out in their lawn to listen to their tirades.

I laughed to myself as I wrote. The minutes bled into hours. My hands started hurting. I refused to stop until I finished. I couldn't risk it. I finally found a way out and I'm not letting it out of my sight.

Among the things that I could change and interact with, this diary was the only one that didn't get reset. I don't know the reason why so I just try to live with it by writing everything that happened during my day.

Entry 567. I laughed bitterly. I really need to get out of here. I don't know how long I could stay sane with all the loops I've lived through. I need Rom. And I need to do the only thing that would score me a future.

I looked up at the stars I didn't even realize crept into the night sky and smiled.

Rom, I'm going to make you as real as you could possibly be.