Jennifer Thompson

The universe, Felix decided, had a twisted sense of humor -- or perhaps a vendetta against his sanity.

Three days after the Kate incident, it happened again. Felix was waiting for the elevator in his office building's lobby when the familiar wave of dizziness crashed over him. The marble floor beneath his feet rippled like water, and when his vision cleared, he found himself standing in the breakroom of Datapulse Tech -- his previous employer.

"Felix? I thought you left this place in the dust."

Jennifer Thompson stood before him, one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised in surprise, coffee mug in hand. Unlike Kate, Jennifer wasn't a wistful what-if from his adolescence. She was the razor-sharp team lead who'd intimidated and fascinated him in equal measure for the eighteen months they'd worked together.

"Jennifer," he stammered, frantically trying to process his surroundings. "I -- I'm just visiting."

Her dark eyes narrowed. "Interviewing with Sanchez? Smart move. That department's expanding."

Before Felix could formulate a response that didn't sound completely unhinged, the breakroom dissolved around him. He stumbled as his apartment materialized, catching himself against his kitchen counter.

That night, Felix created a spreadsheet.

He titled it "Displacement Events" and meticulously documented everything he could remember: dates, times, duration, physical sensations, and most importantly -- the people. Two columns particularly troubled him: "Connection to Subject" and "Emotional Significance." Both Kate and Jennifer occupied spaces in his mental catalog of unrequited attractions, though for entirely different reasons.

By morning, the spreadsheet had expanded to include hypotheses ranging from "Brain Tumor" to "Quantum Entanglement" to "Cosmic Joke." Felix added a tab labeled "Research" and began filling it with articles on temporal displacement, hallucinations, and stress-induced psychosis.

"Not helping," he muttered, closing yet another Reddit thread about parallel universes.

He considered therapy, even went so far as to compile a list of psychologists covered by his insurance. But each time his finger hovered over the call button, the same thought stopped him: How do you explain to a professional that you're suddenly teleporting to encounter women you've had feelings for without sounding completely delusional?

Felix swiveled in his chair, staring at the spreadsheet that now dominated both his screen and his thoughts. The pattern was undeniable. Something supernatural was happening -- either to his mind or to reality itself.

He added a third column to his "People" tab: "Unfinished Business."

Because if he was being honest with himself, that's what Kate and Jennifer represented -- conversations never had, feelings never expressed, possibilities never explored. The thought sent a chill down his spine.

If the pattern held, who would be next?