The Future Diary - By Chen An'An

Written By: Chen An'An

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the realm of speculative fiction, Chen An'An's short story "The Future Diary" stands as a remarkable contribution to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. The story takes readers on a captivating journey through the lens of time travel, intertwining technology and human emotion. Set in a world where Time Travel Technology (TTT SciencesTM) is a reality, An'An explores themes of friendship, trust, and the unforeseen consequences of technological advancements. Join us as we delve into this compelling narrative that blurs the lines between past, present, and future.

About the Work

"The Future Diary" employs a vivid narrative style that immerses readers in a world where time travel is commonplace, yet fraught with unexpected challenges. An'An masterfully crafts a tale that balances the excitement of technological wonders with the complexities of human relationships. The story's tone oscillates between the thrill of discovery and the tension of impending danger, creating a dynamic reading experience. Through rich imagery and relatable characters, An'An invites readers to ponder the ethical implications of altering time and the enduring power of self-discovery.

The Future Diary

Original Submission by Chen An'An

Introducing the Future Diary!

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the future. Hallmarking the start of the era of superior technology, we utilise only top-tier, tried and tested Time Travel Technology, or TTT SciencesTM to put into array this technology straight out of a sci-fi movie. These are no longer fiction, you live in the same era as those out of world movies you watched as a kid.

TTT SciencesTM explains that this is foolproof technology with a 0% risk of being pulled into a time warp. I bet you guys don’t even know what that is. Because it won’t happen with the Future Diary! Safely send yourself letters to both your past and future self with this revolutionary creation. It’s the new thing in town—so don’t forget to get one for yourself before you miss out!

At an affordable starting price of $500++.

“If my mom doesn’t get this for Christmas, I’m jumping off the building.”

“If I don’t get my hands on this soon, I will punch my dad.”

“You don’t have a dad.”

Jeanne shrugged, tossing a lock of golden hair behind her shoulder. “You get the point, darling. I need this like I need oxygen.”

Asta pushed up the chunky glasses up her flat nosebridge and bared her buck teeth. “Erm, actually–”

“Oh shut up, Asta. Last one to the TTT store is a rotten egg!”

That did shut her up. Asta let out a loud squeal as Jeanne rocketed off, following closely (quite far, actually) behind. This was why Jeanne loved running. Not just because she was objectively faster than most kids… well, that too… but the wind billowing her hair, that feeling of taking off, as if she could fly, was absolutely unmatched. She felt like a bird. Nothing could stop her in her path.

Jeanne skidded to a stop as the TTT store came into view. Asta followed, red-faced and panty, a few moments later. “This… is not… fair! You always… win…”

A hurried shush. Asta looked up, confused and was met with the sight of Jeanne all pressed up against the window of the store. Her eyes were focused, more focused than in an exam hall. Locked on one single thing. The Future Diary that lay in a display box.

It was a thing of beauty. It was leather-bound, and despite being a new model, it carried a vintage quality of a time-aged book. Underneath its cover, the secrets were infinite. Even through the glass box, plus the window, Jeanne swore that she could smell it, just a whiff. It smelled like knowledge, like her grandma’s cooking—stew with potatoes, an evergreen classic dish—like a river that ran through the river rocks, cutting through cleanly without ever hesitating. Oh god did Jeanne want it. She wanted it so badly.

Asta tried, “Maybe your mom will get it for you.”

A scoff escaped Jeanne’s lips. “Please, Asta. You’ve got to be kidding me. My mom can’t even afford a new pair of shoes for my brother. For heavens’ sake, she earns what—a dollar more than our monthly rental. She can’t afford this.”

They paused, the air slightly tense. A hint of remorse crept up Jeanne, but she quickly pushed it down.

“I’ve got to go fetch my brother home.” Jeanne didn’t meet eyes with Asta. “See you.”

They walked silently away from the TTT store, not looking back at the untouchable world. The part where their paths diverged was drawing near. Jeanne heard Asta draw a breath, ready to say something.

“Happy birthday, Jeanne.”

~

Entry #1

Dear Jeanne of 2026,

Be careful. Please.

You do not know what is coming for you, you poor thing. You do not know what dangers lurk right under your nose. Don’t trust anyone. Anything. Not everything is as it seems.

Jeanne of 2027

~

When Jeanne reached home, holding her brother’s hand tightly as if he might run away any moment, the first thing she saw was a box on the table.

For a moment—just one, magical moment—Jeanne let herself be overjoyed. Her mother had remembered her birthday! And got her a gift! What a wonder!

Immediately ruined by her mother stepping in with a furrow between her brows. “Oh, yes, Jeanne, someone left this by the front door. The postman said it was for you. Did you give out your address to your friend? I wonder how they knew where to send it to. I always tell you, Jeanne, you can’t just give out our home address like this, especially since we’re always moving and—” At this point, Jeanne had blocked her mom out, she was always rambling anyway. No point listening.

Her hands carefully took the box into her hands. It was quite light, perhaps a book? She did like books. Now that she recalled, she’d told Nessa that she wanted the second Lord of the Rings book (the first one was from her dad, many winters ago when they still had money, when he was still around, but that was a story for another time), but it befuddled her how Nessa knew her address.

A few meters away, her mom was still rambling while fumbling with the stove. “Either way, why are your friends getting things for you? Sweet of them, I suppose, but you aren’t asking them, are you? We aren’t well-to-do, but you know we Addersons don’t ask people for help. It’s shameful, sort of.”

Emotion swelled up in Jeanne. The type that threatened to leak out through her eyes. “Mom, it’s my birthday.”

The room suddenly turned very cold. Her brother on the dining table, unaware of the situation. The kettle whistling away a merry tune. Her mother’s hand paused over the stove, frozen, as if Jeanne had hit the pause button on life. She wasn’t moving. Not for a long time. Then she turned back to the stove, not quite looking Jeanne in the eye. “Oh, happy birthday,” she finally said.

What ensued was silence. Jeanne could have said something. Maybe a thank you. But she didn’t bother. Because there was something lacking in her mom, perhaps it was a lack of care in general. An absence—not of something in particular, just a general absence in Jeanne’s life totally.

Her little brother began banging loudly on the table, complaining about his hunger and how he wanted his food NOW OR ELSE and that kind of whatnot. There was a humming in Jeanne’s ears. A faint buzz that just wouldn’t go away. It sounded a little like voices, whispering that nobody cared, her mom didn’t care. She gulped it down and bolted to the room.

“Jeanne, dinner’s almost ready, where are you going?”

“I’m not hungry,” she managed to whisper before grabbing the package and disappearing into her room.

Only when the door had slammed close behind her did she allow herself to slump down along the walls, face in her hands. Jeanne didn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry, not for anyone, but especially not for a woman who couldn’t even be bothered to act like it was Jeanne’s special day. Birthdays this year felt less like a celebration, and more like an expectation, in which Jeanne was let down… wholly.

Even though not a single tear was shed, it still didn’t feel good. In fact, her feelings were more on the empty-hollow-outer-shell than anything else. The lack of sadness was overwhelming in its own right.

Soon enough, Jeanne managed to comfort herself because she had to do what her mother would not. Shaky breaths, in and out. Then shaky hands that peeled the packaging off, bit by bit. Occasionally, the air felt so hard, it just wouldn’t come in, she would have to let go of the package and remind herself to breathe. It’s not the end of the world. Before she would pick it back up and continue peeling.

Parts of the gift started to show. A hard, red surface cheekily peeped through what little packaging she had torn through. Motivation fueled by curiosity washed over her. All thoughts of her desolate relationship with her mother were momentarily abandoned, replaced by childish excitement coursing through her body. Someone had remembered her birthday! And even got her a gift! What was it going to be?

As she ripped away the final bit of plastic, it took a good second of stunned silence for reality to truly come crashing down. Jeanne dropped the Future Diary—yes, you read it right—and stifled the scream of pure joy down her throat. A future diary! She had one! And it was hers! It wasn’t the type that she stared at, through the store window. She wasn’t imagining. This wasn’t one of her fantasies during math class, was it?

Jeanne willed herself to wake up. Just to make sure. Nothing happened. She was real. This was real… yet felt unreal. In the best way possible. She allowed herself an ecstatic squeal as she grabbed it possessively, hugging it to her chest. Someone had gotten her a Future Diary. A real Future Diary. Jeanne flipped it over. On the back cover, TTT SciencesTM had been inscribed in their signature font. Not a fake. Real time travelling sciences in it.

Hands trembling in excitement, Jeanne flipped it open and saw it. A letter addressed to herself. Before she could even process it, she started reading.

~

Dear Jeanne,

Firstly, I just want to say, happy birthday to you! This year has definitely been rough. Didn’t see that coming. And definitely did NOT see Daisy Adams turning all your friends against you. That little bitch. I’m still sore, yes, even though I have one more year of steaming off than you. Life has thrown every single minor inconvenience in your face, along with some major ones, yet you’re still standing! I just want to say that I could not be prouder. You are so strong despite all the crap this year has been, and this future diary is your reward for making it through this year.

I promise you, next year will be… interesting, that’s for sure. Be prepared for some huge surprises, things you would never imagine. And make good use of this diary! Write down everything that happens to you so that I can see it. I promise that I will write back soon, okay? I hope you like this birthday gift, although who am I kidding? I loved it, and you’re me… so…

Regards, Jeanne Adderson 2027

~

A warm feeling spread through her chest, like a cloth being dipped in a hot bath. She never knew she could read something and recognise it so well. She could totally see herself writing this, chuckling at the dry jokes, phrasing every single sentence the same way. Even the way she looped her ‘O’s was the same.

Jeanne knew it was her, but the person on the other side of the time science felt like a stranger who somehow knew her better than everyone.

Jeanne closed the book and gingerly brought it close to her. It was the best birthday gift she could have ever asked for. Silently, she swore to herself, next year she would do the same thing for herself. Because if not she wasn’t sure if she could have made it through to the next year.

Then, after the promise was done, oath tied up and never to be broken, Jeanne picked up her pen and started to write.

~

Entry #2

Dear Jeanne of 2027/Future me,

Thank you so much for the birthday gift! Words cannot describe how much I love it. And yes, I completely agree, this year has been absolutely terrible. Seeing Daisy Adams with my old friends, laughing her ass off as if she was friends with them first makes me want to throw someone off the roof. Although I notice how you didn’t mention Kaya. Which is strange because I get annoyed everyday on how we used to be best friends, and now she acts like those 5 years of friendship meant absolutely nothing to her. Have you, I don’t know, gotten over it? Please say yes.

Know that I WILL be writing here every single day! You can read every weird thing I do. Luckily you’re me, so I don’t need to worry about being judged. This is nice. I would never write something like this in a friendship diary, would probably write something to make them think I’m totally normal.

Have I said I really appreciate this? I’ll say it again. Thanks so much. It’s the first good day I’ve had in, gosh, weeks. Maybe two months. Hopefully this marks the start of better times ahead. Perhaps I CAN let go of my friendship with Kaya and be grateful for Asta and Nessa. My grudge against Daisy Adams, we’ll see about that.

Love, Jeanne 2026

~

It was indeed a marking of better times ahead. The day after Jeanne smiled genuinely for the first time in what felt forever, she couldn’t stop smiling the whole day. She was impressed at herself, for what an optimistic, mature adult she had become.

The first good incident happened during gym class. Ms Harnold—the best teacher there was around in the school, she had the loveliest smile and only ever wanted her students to be happy—announced they would be playing dodgeball. To start things off, Jeanne was astoundingly splendid at dodgeball. She’d never been the fastest runner, the best defender, the tallest shooter, but when it came down to pure reflexes, now she was a force to be reckoned with. And for the cherry on top, some people started glancing at her, one particularly hot, athletic boy that Jeanne had been goggling at for months now mouthed, “Team up?”

Fireworks exploded in her mind. She nodded furiously, wondering if there was a gesture that could better convey how much she wanted it.

When Ms Harnold blew the whistle to tell them to start forming teams, from the corner of her eye, she saw Asta walking towards her. Despite the waves of guilt that splashed over her, Jeanne willed her body to turn away. “Hey, Connor, you said you wanna team, yeah?” She willed her voice to be the easiest sounding it could be.

He patted her shoulder, not going soft on her just because she was a girl, which made Jeanne’s heart leap out of its cage even more. “Damn right. You got this, ‘kay? Imagine the ball’s a bullet launching at you.” Behind her, Jeanne could feel Asta sag and walk away to join someone else’s team. She whispered to herself it’s fine, Asta’s stronger than that, sometimes you can’t let your friends hold you back from what you want. It didn’t make her feel any better, but she still plastered on a smile as she hopped onto court.

She played well. Really well. Dodging balls thrown at full speed by basketballers with their muscular arms. Flinging them back at equal strength, even knocking out this guy that was also known to be good at dodging. How good did that feel? They won by landslide, knocking out every single player on the opposite team while having half left standing. And when she thought this gym class couldn’t get any better, when they’d won, Connor ran over to her and lifted his hand for a five. Jeanne grinned. They high fived. He bumped her fist and announced she was their new star player. Her cheeks reddened, but inside? She was celebrating. This alone was one of the best events that had happened to her in weeks.

But the day wasn’t quite over yet, and even more good things were about to come her way. Or so Jeanne hoped, right until during recess when she was minding her own business, finishing up some extra reading from a book Nessa had lent her, when Daisy Adams (previously introduced but reiterated as Jeanne’s nemesis, the bane of her existence, equipped with a pretty but punchable face) catwalked—yes, you heard right—right into the class with her bunch of minions, Kaya (former best friends, cajoled not too long ago into turning against her five year friendship to join the dark side) included, giggling like maniacs at some funny joke Daisy had said.

Wow, Jeanne thought grumpily, and I thought today would be a good day.

“And I’m saying gals, I really did want a girls class party at my house! I thought, it would be cool, swimming in the pool you know, girls only, just having fun, blasting some tunes,” Daisy Adams was saying. If she’d stop there, maybe Jeanne would have given it a break. Taken a few deep breaths and continued reading—the plot was starting to get juicy after all. But no, Daisy Adams being the absolute turd she just had to continue, “But I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Some of her followers… friends, Jeanne meant, called back.

“Because,” Daisy continued, her follower-friends drinking up every word. “It’d be weird. Especially because some people in this class like…” she looked around and leaned in scandalously. Jeanne didn’t miss how her eyes locked onto Jeanne’s for a second too long as she whispered, “they like girls.”

A chorus of little gasps burst among the group of girls. Daisy hurriedly shushed them, as if it hadn’t been her intended effect. Jeanne clenched her book tighter.

“I’m not gonna point fingers,” Daisy said, absolutely ready to point fingers. “But you know, I can’t just invite Asta! It’s going to be a pool party—there are girls in swimsuits.”

Murmured agreements. Rage swelled within Jeanne, threatening to swirl out with the force of a tsunami any moment. She should have kept calm, and forgotten about it. But when Kaya opened her mouth, that was the last straw.

“Exactly. I’m sorry, I’m okay with Asta and stuff, but you cannot invite a lesbian to an all-girls pool party. It’s gonna be so awkward for all of us, and it’s not very nice to her, too. She might not be able to control herself!” Her sweet, piercing voice made Jeanne visibly cringe. Not only was the twisted truth she was spewing absolutely atrocious and false, but it disgusted her how Kaya put on the false act of a sweet, innocent girl to blend in with Daisy Adams’ group. Jeanne had known Kaya since middle school and never heard her use that ridiculous voice, ever. To get a whole new voice, now that was just pure embarrassing.

That was it. Jeanne slammed her book shut, making sure its loud thud echoed all about the classroom.

“Just because you’ve never seen Asta date a boy before doesn’t mean she dates girls,” Jeanne snapped with remarkable restraint, in her opinion, if she wanted to she would have walked right over and slapped her. “You know, Daisy Adams, I’ve never seen you kiss your boyfriend, I’m assuming you're saving that first kiss for the aliens?” Before Daisy could defend herself, Jeanne continued, too pissed to care about a dainty girl’s feelings. “Oh, I’ve never seen you use your brain before speaking, either. I think I can safely say you don’t have one?” Jeanne shrugged maliciously. “It’s okay, Daisy, at least you don’t need to act stupid to get people to help you!”

The room was in utter shock for a few delicious seconds. Daisy’s mouth hung open like a drawer someone had forgotten to close. Jeanne drank it up thirstily.

Now, this was the highlight. Even Connor, with all his handsomeness, would find it hard to beat this.

~

Entry #3

Dear Jeanne of 2027

Today was an awesome day! I haven’t had such a good one in so, very long. I’m extremely grateful for this diary. Just know it had something to do with one of the first good days in months.

Other than making Daisy Adams shut her trap, which would normally be good already, guess what? Connor talked to me! More specifically, high-fived me, said I was the class’ star dodgeball player, and asked me to join his team… I know, I know. I don’t know if it can get better than this, but I feel like it will. And that very thought makes me so excited I start quivering. Is this normal? I don’t even want to think about the bad things anymore. It seems like such a waste of time when there are so many good surprises waiting around my corner, like today.

One more thing, when are you going to write back? Imagine having conversations with each other via this diary! I’ve seen some influencers do it, don’t know if it’s legit. Could you write back some time? I would really appreciate it. It’s fine if you’re busy, though!

Regards,

Jeanne of 2026

~

Jeanne let out a loud, happy sigh as she flopped back onto her bed, thinking about the day. Especially about Connor. About the way he had smiled at her. She had never seen someone with such a lovely, genuine smile. It was as if he didn’t have a care about what others thought about him. He was just happy, in the moment, enjoying it. Maybe that was why everyone wanted to be with him like moths drawn to flame—including herself. It was hard to resist a company like that. Who didn’t bother to act nonchalant or downplay your achievements. Someone who was just happy for you and loved spending time with you.

Jeanne shoved her face into a pillow to hide her face in case her mom or brother came in. She was certain it was the violent shade of a tomato. Her brain didn’t stop. It continued buzzing every reason why Connor Peter Johnson was objectively the most attractive, kind, intelligent boy on planet Earth. Oh god. She even knew his full name despite having never heard it explicitly. It was that bad.

Her brother came into the room. “Why are you doing that?” He asked loudly. Jeanne couldn’t breathe, whether it was from having her entire respiratory system blocked by the pillow or the mere thought that the most perfect boy she’d ever met thought she was their star player, she didn’t know. What she knew was that if she lifted her face from the pillow, her brother would most definitely see how crimson her face was.

“Why are you doing that?” He repeated, volume so high, the neighbors could probably hear every word clear as crystal.

Irritation streaked through her. “Go away, Matthew."

He didn’t go away, just repeated his question even louder, she didn’t even know it could get louder than that, there were no limits to annoying 10 year olds. For one dark second, Jeanne imagined what life would be like without her brother. What if? Maybe her mother wouldn’t need to live paycheck to paycheck. Maybe her mother would remember her birthday. Maybe her father would have brought her along (she wouldn’t like that one though, the thought of that rosy-cheeked, dark-haired woman and her Pan Am smile, having to live with her, she’d rather dig a ditch and lay there, she refused to even if her father bought a mansion, not that he could afford one). Maybe, maybe, maybe. What was she going to do anyway, send him away? Her mother would be bawling so loudly for weeks, Jeanne would have to bring him back just to shut her up. She couldn’t do that to her own brother, anyway. So she just lay there and willed him to get the hell out of their room. Which he did, eventually, when he got bored and went to watch TV.

~

Entry #4

Dear Jeanne of 2027

Bored. I finished all my exams, so I’ve got nothing to do. Sounds a little silly, doesn’t it? Past me would slap me so hard. I wish this future diary could write to a time that the diary hadn’t been invented yet, then I would write to my past self.

Plan for tomorrow: be super friendly with Connor!

And roast Daisy Adams again if I have the chance. Maybe make a jab at Kaya. I’m feeling a little jabby. Metaphorically, I mean.

Love, Jeanne of 2026

~

And just like that, Jeanne’s life changed forever. Because of one simple diary.

The next few months passed in a blur. The challenges weren’t over. Her mom still struggled to pay for her two kids, her brother was still annoying, Daisy Adams and Kaya still constantly irked her out for breathing too loudly. But these inconveniences, suddenly she realised how minor they were. So what if they happened? It felt immoral to forget about the good things that had happened, just because of a small spot of shade in her life. Especially when these “good things” involved her growing friendship (and maybe “relationship”, if she would be a bit hopeful) with Connor, as well as her absolutely favourite part of the day. Writing in her future diary.

The ecstasy of pulling it out after a long grueling day was just indescribable. Jeanne wished there was a mirror sometimes, so she could see her big, wide grin as she wrote down her thoughts.

She still wrote to her future self like it was a separate entity, all the time. It just felt strange referring to her future self as “me”. After all, people can change, isn’t that right? Jeanne knew a year from now, she would be a wholly different person. Just like how she was a wholly different person compared to herself one year ago. It was the same thing. Also, she thought to herself occasionally, the grammar would be really weird anyway.

As much as her life was changing for the better, thanks to this sort of… inner peace that she’d achieved, that was still one thing that irked her. Her future self had never, ever written back. At first she comforted herself about it. She (I?) must be really busy. Jeanne tried to imagine what she was busy with. Dating her boyfriend, whom Jeanne hoped she would have in a year, and whose name would preferably start with C. That was one possibility. But surely dating wouldn’t take so much time up, would it? She had never tried it before, and couldn’t possibly know, but back when Daisy Adams was dating that soccer player she still had plenty of time to ruin Jeanne’s life and steal all her friends. So that was that. The more likely option was academics—next year, high school would start, and naturally future her would be busy. Still. It could NOT be that difficult to write back a ‘good job with that math test’ once in a while, right?

It continued irking her, though eventually she forgot about it, until a whole month later, when she opened her diary to document her day like always and found a whole new entry she didn’t remember writing waiting for her to read.

Jeanne’s first thought was: Finally! Her eyes sped through the message excitedly, still thinking about the positive words of affirmation when her happiness started to falter. Wait a moment. This message was not quite the message she was expecting. She read through it again, buzzing with confusion.

“‘Dear Jeanne of 2026,” she read out loud, unable to comprehend the meaning of the letter, “I hope this entry finds you well. I am so happy that you are having a good life but I am here to warn you this is not for long. There is imminent danger right ahead of you. Trust me, please, I would know as I have lived through them. But barely. And if you don’t, too, then I disappear because that’s how the future works. I wish I could tell you more but unfortunately this is all I can divulge. I will be issuing more warnings to you on how to avoid danger. They may seem very confusing but please, I beg of you, it is for your own good.

“Trust no one but yourself. And I am you, and you are me. Please keep safe. Love, Jeanne of 2027.’ What the–?”

Jeanne stared at the diary, absolutely bewildered. What was that even supposed to mean? Imminent danger? She shuddered at the sound of that. And she had still been all happy-go-lucky about this new chapter of her life. She desperately racked her mind about what this danger could be. Was she going to get hit with a car? That could be it. Jeanne was already forming a whole timeline for that. Maybe her future self had scheduled the delivery on her birthday and got hit by a car on the same day. Then perhaps she was launched into a coma for months before finally waking up today to issue this warning. But a simple “don’t go to this road at this time on this day” would have been pretty easy, wouldn’t it? No need for mysteries and riddles.

The whole ordeal was outright… strange. Priding herself a frank person, the last thing Jeanne would ever do was to beat around the bush like that. She wondered why her future self would be so different.

Only when she set it down on her bed did Jeanne realise how much her hands were shaking. This had thrown her off balance far more than she’d expected. Not that she could have ever expected such an ominous warning coming from her future self.

She pushed it to the back of her mind with some effort. Despite this, life would still go on. There was an imminent danger, sure, and she couldn’t trust anybody, sure. But life would go on. And she had to move along as well. So as long as the next warning hadn’t come, she didn’t have to panic. And if a warning did come, it would be fine. She would carry it out just fine.

Right?

~

Entry #96

Dear Jeanne of 2027,

Your ominous warning threw me off a bit. Now I am worried about what is to come next. How did you survive this? I’m a little impressed, got to say. I don’t know what’s coming and I don’t know how to stop it. If you’ve got help for me please offer it. Both of our futures are at stake right now. But anyway, thank you for looking out for me. Although it might be an obligation for you, I do appreciate it.

Love, Jeanne of 2026.

~

The first warning came about a week later. Jeanne couldn’t pretend she hadn’t been thinking about it all week. And of course when she opened her book again, her heart did a tiny leap, like a gymnast flipping around, as her darting eyes found themselves to the new entry.

“‘Dear Jeanne of 2026,’” She read out loud. “‘Beware the Girl with the red book. You trust her, you think you can trust her. You must not. Love, Jeanne of 2027.’” Jeanne crinkled her brows together, knitting them into a knot. “What does that mean? Who is the girl with the red book?” Question marks buzzed around in her mind. Now, if only she didn’t talk in riddles so much. Jeanne herself quite liked making them, sometimes she would create riddles to stun her younger brother, but only to enjoy seeing his befuddled face. Was future Jeanne having fun doing that to herself? She couldn’t imagine being so sadistic.

No point in wondering over things. Jeanne grabbed her bag to go to school. School would have answers. Like who the Girl with the Red Book was.

Soon she reached school. She tried not to, but she really couldn’t help herself. Every one she passed, if they were holding a book of some kind—textbook, notebook, it really didn’t matter—her neck would be craned wildly as she tried to see the colour of the book. She began to realise not many, if any people seemed to possess a red book of any kind. Jeanne had passed by a whole group of girls last minute cramming from a supplementary textbook, bright crimson in colour, but how could she be cautioned against a whole group of more than 10 strong? No, this wasn’t it. There were far too many girls with red books.

A couple more false alarms as Jeanne darted through the hallway, looking borderline creepy as she craned her neck wildly like an absolute freak. One girl’s book had a brooch the reddest red she’d ever seen at the book front, but it wasn’t the book itself. Not counted. One guy, hockey team, if she remembered correctly, had a red book, but the book had explicitly stated it was a girl. So Jeanne brushed that off too.

When Connor turned around the corner, holding a book a lovely shade of subdued red, Jeanne nearly jumped out of her skin. She willed herself not to look like the freak she seemed like in the hallway. One side of her brain screamed, “IT’S A RED BOOK. ATTENTION, IT’S A RED BOOK!”, while the other blasted madly like a war siren, “CONNOR!! IT’S YOU!”

What came out was instead a smile so smooth it was criminal, and only her greeting could second it.

“Hey, Connor, new shoes? I love Niky.” Smoother than butter.

“You noticed?” His cheeks were a faint pink. Or was she just being delusional? “Yep, my dad bought them for me. He said it would impress yo—impress people. Do you think so?”

Jeanne put on an easy grin. “For sure. I love them. I hate to admit, but Connor, you just might have the swaggest shoes in school today.”

And Connor replied with what might as well be on the book of records as World’s Cutest Grin. Ever. Only after he walked past did she realise how hard her heart was thumping against her ribcage. What a joy.

So joyful it took her a big fat second to see Asta waving at her shyly from their classroom. And a bigger, fatter moment, to see the crimson red notebook in her hands.

Asta was the Girl with the Red Book.

Alarms went off in her head. As well as a million thoughts pressing against her mind, suffocating it. They raced wildly against each other, each thought competing to make her panic even more. Three thoughts shone out bright like light in a mist.

Number one. Asta was the person future Jeanne had warned her about. Which meant she posed some danger to Jeanne’s future, although what danger she posed, Jeanne did not know, making the situation worse.

Number two. …Asta????!!!! Was this a fluke? A mistake of some kind? Perhaps that book wasn’t as red as she thought, she was just on alert mode, overreacting to every red book.

Jeanne glanced surreptitiously over. Yep, red. Definitely red. The very essence of blood and life and all things red. It could not get more definite than that.

Number three. If it really was Asta (and Jeanne was slowly starting to realise that it could really be Asta), then what was Jeanne supposed to do? Unfriend her? That was outright cruel. While Jeanne still had Nessa, and a decent amount of extroversion to find new friends, Asta had been clinging to Jeanne’s side for social survival since the start of the school year. She didn’t think she could find the ruthlessness to abandon Asta like that. But what else was she supposed to do? Jeanne did pride herself with being blunt—the biting comments she failed to hold back from Daisy Adams was proof of that. Thus naturally, it would pain her greatly to have to act in front of her friend. Not only did it make her feel like a lying, conniving coward, it was also morally just… wrong.

The whole situation just left Jeanne in a confused, jumbled mess. She gave Asta a quick wave before finding herself to her seat, mind still buzzing with questions. What would she do? Jeanne found herself counting down hours to lunch break. Which she usually ate with Asta. She imagined herself breaking down, running out of the cafeteria, screaming for Asta not to follow her. The very thought of that sent shivers down her spine.

For now she would wait.

But unfortunately life was not so kind. Sometimes when she was having a real good time at a friend's house, hours would be gone in a blink. Just like that. Time moved similarly that day, like how she dreaded for the end to come. It did.

The lunch bell rang, resounding throughout the school campus. Jeanne felt a shiver involuntarily run down her spine. She wouldn’t unfriend Asta just yet, she decided. Just in case it was a false alarm.

Something in her told her, it wasn’t a false alarm. Jeanne was just reluctant to let go of her friend so fast, she didn’t have the heart to. She would act then, act like she was in Hollywood, even if her insides turned to slime and decomposed.

“Hey Asta!” she chirped, a voice so merry she winced internally. Asta launched into a rant about her new obsession. Jeanne didn’t quite understand half of the terms used, but nodded along, pretending to be interested.

And that was pretty much how most of lunch went by. Asta did most of the talking, Jeanne did the overthinking. The overanalysing. She didn’t want to unfriend someone over some warning. But on the other hand, this could be a real danger. But what danger Asta brought about, Jeanne failed to comprehend. The only danger she brought about was bleeding ears when she talked too much. That was about it.

Yet something inside her nagged to listen. Because better safe than sorry as they always said.

“Um… Asta?”

Asta paused dramatically mid gush. “Yes? Jeanne? About to confess your undying love for me? I’m straight. Yes, I know everyone thinks otherwise.”

The unexpected response threw Jeanne away of course. “I… no, what? Why would you think that?”

“Please don’t act dumb, Jeanne,” Asta replied, voice hard as rock. “I know what Daisy Adams says about me. She wants to invite the whole class except me because she thinks I like girls. I do not.”

Jeanne waved Asta’s words away, flustered and shocked. “Nobody thinks that, Asta, other than Daisy Adams and maybe her friends. So shut up for a second and listen to me.”

The only response she got was a gaping mouth that nearly brushed the floor. Good.

“Hypothetically, if I were to change schools, who would you hang out with instead?” Jeanne asked. She winced at the awkward wording. But she needed this, so if she really did distance herself from Asta, maybe this would save half of the guilt.

Asta only continued gaping, looking even more bewildered than before. She bolted up from her chair, its legs screeching uncomfortably against the floor. “ARE YOU CHANGING SCHOOLS?!”

Goodness gracious. Jeanne had braced herself for this kind of reaction. “Hypothetically, Asta. Do you not understand the meaning of hypothetically?”

This had her calm down a bit. Asta sat down, a little embarrassed. “Sorry.” An awkward pause in between. “I guess I would… eat alone, maybe. Might find an acquaintance and latch on. To be honest, I’m not sure. Why are you asking this?”

Jeanne hadn’t really figured this part of the fib quite right yet. “Just… wondering.” Her voice faltered a little. A wave of guilt threatened to wash up. She couldn’t let go of Asta. It was quite obvious Asta would not cope well alone. Worse yet, she might grow to resent Jeanne for ditching her with no clear reason. Jeanne herself wasn’t quite sure what the reason was anymore.

“There’s the bell,” she mumbled awkwardly as the end of lunch bell rang. “See you tomorrow, Asta.”

“Are we going to the bookstore in the afternoon?” Jeanne heard Asta call out from behind her. Nausea ebbed up her body. She tripled her pace out of the cafeteria, pretending she hadn’t heard anything.

~

Entry #97

Dear Jeanne of 2027,

Please. I don’t know what to do. Can you give me some clearer advice on how to protect myself from the danger? In fact, a description on what the danger could be would be greatly helpful. Maybe we could skip all the ambiguity and riddles and focus on how to avoid the danger. Now, that would sure help me a plenty. Thanks.

What should I do about Asta? Aka the Girl with the Red Book. I want to “beware” her, but she is also my friend. And I’m her only friend! Do you think it would be safe if I remained her friend? My guard will be up, I promise. I won’t trust her, I just don’t want to hurt her feelings.

Love, Jeanne of 2026.

~

A whole week passed before a reply came. Now, that was the most painful week of Jeanne’s life. Turns out, keeping a balance between wariness and friendship was the hardest effing balance there had to be out there. Any slightly cold remark from her lips, to make known the distance (just to put a slight distance, prevent them from feeling too comfortable with each other) could launch Jeanne into a cycle of overthinking and guilt. She had grown to loathe herself for the need to be so pragmatic. But the other side of her knew danger was real and she had to do what it took to keep herself safe.

So when answers came, you bet Jeanne read them faster than she did in exams.

“‘Dear Jeanne of 2026,’” She read. “‘Sorry if my previous response was vague. To clarify, I am helping you eliminate all the factors I remember when the danger happened. Asta was one of them. And now I also want to tell you that your brother, as harmless as you might see him to be, was also one of the factors. You do not need to dispose of him but you must stop going with him to places. Love, Jeanne of 2027.’”

Confusion washed over Jeanne. Her brother? That scrawny little Matthew Adderson? She never thought she’d see the day that bag of bones would actually pose a danger to anyone at all, let alone his sister twice his height and weight. She thought of scribbling asking how because in no universe could she imagine her brother actually being strong enough to be a danger, not until he hit his growth spurt that never seemed to be coming.

Either way, other than sharing the same space Jeanne rarely went anywhere with her brother. When you are a teenager trying to be cool, being seen with the most annoying 10-year-old in the entire galaxy was not something she wanted. Other than occasionally picking him up from school, and that was once in a blue moon, only when her mother really couldn’t make it, the only other day she had to bring him somewhere was… Saturday afternoons for his math class.

Saturday afternoon arrived far too quick.

The week had felt strange. Every time Jeanne looked up at the clock, and realised each second that ticked meant a second closer to having to fetch her brother on Saturday, little spikes of panic would crawl up Jeanne. Time was never kind. It marched along, head high at top speed, not ever slowing down for Jeanne. Soon enough, Saturday 1.30pm had come knocking on Jeanne’s door, begging for her to deal with the situation.

“Jeanne! Are you ready? You need to bring Matthew to math!” Her mom called, pounding repeatedly on her bedroom door.

“One moment,” she called back weakly. As she lugged herself off the oh-so-comfortable bed and walked towards what she had been dreading all week, her mind raced faster than a formula one car. Excuses. What excuses could she use? I’m not feeling so well today? That was the biggest fib in all of Mother Earth’s history. She was very sure her mother had seen her scoffing down her lunch like a greedy pig just minutes ago. It was dino nuggets and sweet chili sauce, in her defense, not the kind of lunch you ate like a gracious, fair lady. She sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her mother about the warning. That annoying, naggy tone of her mother’s was already beginning to blather about in her ear. “You can’t trust just anything… What if it’s a hoax? Why didn’t you tell me you had a future diary? Stop writing, what if…. What if…” and a million what-ifs, because there were always so many dangers in everything. For all she knew her school toilet paper had spy cameras installed in it to pry about. For all they knew her brother had been replaced at birth with a gorilla infant and they had raised it so humanly it forgot its instincts. There were just too many possibilities in the multiverse, and Jeanne was getting tired of having to keep track and account for them all.

With that, she decided to hell with whatever objections her mother had. She swung open the door with more force than necessary and bit out (in a tone that needed some improvement, not that she cared), “I can’t. I’m busy.”

Jeanne winced internally at the sheer lack of respect. But the words had already left her mouth, so it was too late. Her mother made a displeased expression but seemed far too tired and resigned to comment on it. Instead she jabbed right back, “Please. It’s hard to imagine you’re so busy you can’t even spare 15 minutes of your oh-so-precious time to just make sure your brother doesn’t get run over by a truck when crossing the road!”

Yikes. Jeanne was suddenly reminded where she had inherited her snark.

When she phrased it like that, it made extra guilt climb up pile onto Jeanne’s existing ones. Her intestines twisted around their spots. She should know better than to argue back, but her defensive instincts were triggered. “I know I’ve been doing this for the past year now without ever complaining, but that doesn’t mean I’m your chauffeur for hire! I have rights too and with those rights I say I want to stay at home and so I shall.”

A spark of anger flickered in her mother’s eyes. She clenched her fists tightly. “Not only do you drain my resources, you also give me this horrible attitude. He is your brother! He is your responsibility! Do you want your brother dead? If so, go on. Stay at home and remember he walks out there, unsheltered, and probably nothing will happen, I know what you’re thinking, but if something really does you’re going to be real damn SORRY!” At the last word, her volume spiked. Dramatically, piercing through the air. Jeanne recoiled in her seat. Somewhere behind her mother, she saw her brother look up, stunned and confused. Another arrow of guilt punctured through her. What was she doing? Shunning from her responsibilities like the absolutely trash elder sister she was?

And so, even though swallowing her pride tangibly hurt her throat, she did it anyway and stood up, mumbled an embarrassed apology to her mother and made her way to Matthew’s side.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Her brother looked up at her, then to her mother, then back at her. His wide eyes were like does’, so big and round, full to the brim of childhood innocence. “Is Mom angry at you?”

Jeanne forced a tight smile and reinforced her grip on his hand. “No. I said let’s go.”

They did go. The afternoon sun sat on the highest peak, shining down its brilliance, scorching the humans under it. Beads of sweat dripped down Jeanne’s neck, Matthew was making a strange panting sound that sounded disturbingly like a German shepherd, and it was so bright she could barely see two feet in front of her without torching her eyeballs from the sunlight. If they would really be hit by a truck, Jeanne reckoned it wouldn’t be from Matthew’s foolishness. Instead, she could quite vividly envision herself, head down, unaware of the surroundings, a truck zooming by, top speed, and then…

“Splat!” The sound was deafening, it wheelbarrowed its way into the passerby’s eardrums. All in sync like a band of dancers, they snapped their heads towards the sound. Jeanne’s first reaction was for her mouth to fall towards the floor. Her second was to cover her brother’s eyes. It was too late. He had already seen it.

In front of a truck which had screeched to a halt a second too late was what could be the most traumatic scene most would ever see. What remained of the person (a woman, by the looks of the handbag which had rolled away, several feet away untouched) was a leg, half a head and that was it. The torso and arms were a smudged, bloody mess underneath the truck’s tires. Red pooled around, slowly leaking further. Her head gave one last twitch of life before going still forever. Jeanne shuddered.

“Someone call an ambulance!” The truck driver screamed as he climbed out, tears running down his cheeks. Was he a killer? Jeanne thought numbly. He had killed the lady. Killed her in the most violent fashion there was. Jeanne struggled to comprehend what had just happened, her hand stayed clamped on her brother but she wasn’t moving, she was so very still. Move. Come on. He has a math class to get to but how can you go and solve equations and find X when you just saw a woman’s life leave the earth? Nothing could solve that, bring her back to the living side of the equation. Her brain hurt. It was as if the red spots of blood were clouded on her own brain.

Attempt one to tear her eyes away from the gruesome mess. Despite how much it made her insides churn, despite how much she wanted to find a pit to vomit out the nausea, vomit it all out until it was all gone… she couldn’t do it. Her eyes, they were locked onto the mess. And she knew why.

Because that lady could have been her or Matthew.

If she hadn’t been resistant to bringing Matthew out, she would have been a few steps ahead. Just like how the lady was. They would have their heads down, eyes half-shut from the glaring sunlight. Nobody would have seen, could have seen that truck running towards them at such high speed. Nobody, in that lady’s position, would have been able to dodge in time. Jeanne realised with a chill that she hadn’t heard a scream. It was just a normal, hot Saturday afternoon, everyone was going on with their peaceful lives. One second it was like that, then the other there had been this colossal collision, and there it was. The lady was gone.

Jeanne glared at her arm, subjecting all her will to it to push her brother away from the scene, towards his math class. He moved, reluctantly, but he moved.

Although they were walking, her mind was running. She couldn’t lie that she had had her doubts about Future Jeanne’s warnings. She hadn’t quite believed there would be a danger. She had also quite merrily thought it would never, ever happen to her.

Why did she think that? How could she have?

Jeanne mentally chid herself. The danger was so very close, she had just brushed shoulders with it today. She didn’t know if this would be the first and last—something told her no, it was just a teaser, the real one had yet to show its face. She rubbed her face, worried. But assured. Those warnings were not to be taken lightly anymore. She had tried to ignore them and look at what had happened. Imagine what could have happened. The horror. She firmly swallowed to clamp down the nausea.

Whatever was waiting for her, she would avoid it at all costs.

~

Entry #98

Dear Jeanne of 2027,

I don’t want to sound desperate. But today I went through one of the worst things I might’ve ever been through. And all I kept thinking, seeing her mangled, bloody body, was that could have been me.

I don’t know why I took your warning so lightly. How could I? It might’ve cost me my life. I don’t want to die. I’m only a teenager, I still have my whole life to live. From now on, I promise to take your warnings very seriously. I’ll do anything that can keep me safe. So please help me do this.

Love, Jeanne of 2026.

~

Jeanne clamped her diary shut and before she knew it, warm wet tears had soaked her cheeks. Why was she crying? This was dumb. She crawled into bed and cried herself to sleep.

The reply came the next day. Her prayers had been answered, it seemed. With shockingly steady hands, she opened the diary. Maybe it was the conviction that these warnings were to protect her—yesterday was proof of that. Maybe it was because she needed a routine. Something to distract her from whatever was to come.

“‘Dear Jeanne of 2026, You needn’t beat yourself up for a mistake any teenager would have made. Following instructions is not your suit and that is completely fine. Although a little lacking in prudence, you’re caution before blindly trusting anyone’s words (even if it’s your own) is heartening to see. I hope we can work together to keep you safe, which is why I heed you, return the book. Love, Jeanne of 2027.’” Jeanne’s speech slowed to a ritardando. Book. What book? Her eyes trailed to her bookshelf, stuffed with books of all kinds—thick, thin, fantasy, science fiction, non-fiction. Which book? Surely not all of them. Where would she return them to? The library? Perhaps it was the library books.

Jeanne galumphed towards the bookshelf, towards the library books. Some overdue ones, some she had borrowed for fun reading. Was she supposed to return all of them? Jeanne counted 15 spines. What a ridiculous amount. And if they posed a danger, though how, she could not see, she definitely would not be able to get rid of the danger in time. This would take 2 separate trips to the library which was 45 minutes away from home. Ridiculous. Jeanne looked forlornly at the future diary. If only it were more specific. Just the sci-fi ones, maybe? She could do that real fast.

A bell rang incessantly in her mind. Jeanne paused before realising it wasn’t 15 books that hadn’t been returned. It was 16. She still had the book from Nessa.

Who was Nessa? Nessa was Jeanne’s friend from the times in between losing Kaya to Daisy Adams and meeting Asta. Those hadn’t been good times, and she certainly would not have survived without Nessa. The girl herself was a pariah of her own right—a little strange in the head, not the smoothest with conversations. She did, however, have a shared love for reading with Jeanne, so books were all they talked about, for that few dark weeks. They’d sit in a corner of the library, near the fantasy section, discussing their favourite books and characters until their throats went dry. Nessa loved fantasy, especially adventure novels with fairies and goblins and handsome princes. Jeanne had more of a taste for science fiction, with the out-of-this-world, cutting edge technology, and infinite possibilities there were for mankind. But they were both the same, fundamentally. They loved books, and that was enough to become friends.

Eventually, Jeanne had befriended Asta, who was not quite well-loved but slightly more so than Nessa, and the two could talk about much more than just books. They could talk about boys AND books and so much more. Jeanne had begun to talk to Nessa less and less, but she still did text her occasionally, giving book recommendations or things like that. A week before Jeanne’s birthday, Nessa had, quoting her, said, “I don’t think I can get you a birthday gift because I’m too attached to all my books, but I don’t mind lending you Lord of the Rings, Fellowship of the Ring, which is book one.” A little strange message to see at 7am in the morning, but Jeanne didn’t complain, she just thanked Nessa for the thoughtfulness and went to collect the book from her during recess.

Living up to its infamous reputation, the book was certainly thick. She couldn’t say it wasn’t exciting, now that would be one big fat lie. However, it was taking quite a while to finish, especially with her packed schedule. Jeanne did intend on finishing it, eventually, then passing it back to Nessa. Except now there was a warning. Telling her to return the book. And she was so very sure it was referring to this one.

Jeanne felt a streak of annoyance at herself. Was she really unwilling to heed the warning just because she hadn’t finished a silly book? After yesterday’s events, she thought she would be more cautious than this. It was almost silly, the reasons to not follow.

She made up her mind to return the book. So, when she returned to school on Monday, the first person she made a beeline for was Nessa.

“Nessa,” she called, firming up her voice like it was a slab of meat to be grilled. “Thank you for the gift. I quite enjoyed it.” Then, taking an embarrassing amount of strength, she hoisted the book up into Nessa’s hands. “There.”

A confused silence, before Nessa burst into smiles. “Did you like it? Who’s your favourite character?”

Jeanne desperately fished for a name that had appeared in one of the earlier chapters. “I-I… like Gandalf. Because he’s really wise and cool.” That sounded disturbingly shallow. Jeanne tried to brush it off.

“Oh, really? It must have been so shocking for you, then,” Nessa replied mournfully.

Despite all efforts to act like she had read the whole book, shock was not something you could cover up. Jeanne ended up spitting out, against her will, “Huh? What happened?”

They both paused, one filled with embarrassment and regretting her words while the other stared blankly, radioactive with confusion. “‘I am the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor. You cannot pass.’ Jeanne, did you even read the book?” Nessa was full on interrogating her now.

“I did. I did!” She spluttered. “I was just not thinking. I didn’t hear what you said. Of course I read the book.”

Nessa stared at her accusationally. “You. You didn’t read it. Then why are you returning it now? Don’t you want to find out what happens?”

Now she was getting on Jeanne’s nerves. Just a little, but the sharp stab of irritation was actively growing. “I don’t really have the time so I'm probably just going to watch the movie version.”

“The movie is more than 3 hours long. You don’t have the time? Really? Or you can’t be bothered to read this? I thought we could discuss it together.” Nessa jabbed a finger into Jeanne’s chest—that was the last straw.

Something in her snapped as she bit out, “I don’t care about discussing a book with you, Nessa, just take it and leave me alone!”

Some people stopped to stare. Someone whispered, “Damn,” drawing it out with long syllables. Pink flushed onto Jeanne’s cheeks. She muttered an apology to Nessa and turned on her heel to leave.

“Come back! Hey, Jeanne, where are you going?” Nessa called desperately. Jeanne closed her eyes and willed herself to walk faster.

It was the only thing she could do to make it hurt less.

So she walked. Away from it all. She wasn’t crying, that’s what she told herself, repeating it over and over like a mantra until it became the truth. It was silly, really. She and Nessa were still friends. Right? She didn’t want to think that Nessa could feel betrayed over something so paltry. But at the back of her head she knew she hadn’t been exactly a good, loyal friend and that was what made it hurt so much.

“Why do you look so sad?”

Jeanne looked up and saw him. The slightest crack of a smile appeared on her lips. It was like the light at the end of the tunnel had appeared.

Connor leaned against a locker, his expression creased into somewhere in between concerned and amused. To her absolute delight, he reached over and ran a finger along her eyebrows. “What’s got this diva all worked up?”

She couldn’t help it, she really couldn’t. Had her mom ever asked her why she was down? Had anyone? Ever? The tenderness of the gesture, the adulation in his expression. It was all too much to take in at once, and she just let go.

“It’s just… I had to return a book to Nessa. I can’t tell you why. But I hadn’t finished it, I really wanted to though, and when she found out I hadn’t she kept asking me why. It was like she was grilling me, I couldn’t take it anymore. And she just didn’t get it that I couldn’t tell her, and she seemed so mad at me. What if I lost a friend? She’s one of my only friends and I don’t want to hurt her feelings. It's just…”

Connor shook his head. “Oh, Jeanne. It’s not your fault. Why are you so hard on yourself?”

Jeanne didn’t answer, not because she didn’t want to but because she couldn’t. A torrent of tears was waiting behind those eyelids, ready to pour out like a thunderstorm at the slightest trigger. She could already feel it, the souring of the nose, that lump in the throat. She tried to swallow it down with as much force as she could, but she saw realisation flicker to Connor’s eyes. He looked so sad for her, like he wanted to hug her but wasn’t sure how she’d react.

With a deep breath, she fell into his soft arms.

They stood there awkwardly for a moment, Connor not quite supporting her weight and Jeanne standing there slanted. Then they embraced. He wrapped his strong, thick arms around her and that was it, that was the trigger, the tears flowed out stronger than a downpour on the wettest day of the year. Her head was wedged between his shoulder blades, it was so warm, so comfortable.

As they hugged, she made a wish. She wished this moment would last forever.

It didn’t. He pulled away, grimacing though trying to hide it. “Well… you should probably blow your nose.” His eyes were trained on her, or perhaps trained away from the load of snot on his shoulder.

Jeanne blushed. “Sorry, I’m disgusting.”

He smiled, that same cute smile that had won her the first time she saw it. “Yeah, kinda. But that’s why I like you.”

~

Dear Jeanne of 2027,

Is Asta the Girl with the Red Book? Because, if so, I have been thinking about how I should be wary of her. I have decided to not abandon her. I guess it’s not very prudent when she’s my only friend (if you don’t count Connor and Nessa). It also doesn’t sit right with me. How can I just leave her without ever explaining why I cannot be friends with her? I myself don’t know either, and as much as I trust you have my best interests in mind, I wish I could see the bigger picture sometimes.

Do you have a new warning for me? Focusing on heeding these would certainly take the concerns off my mind.

Regards, Jeanne of 2026

~

A week passed. The warnings came in regular intervals, although none as inconvenient as the previous ones had been. Skip math? No problem. Jeanne had put on an award-winning performance of a stomachache the period before and was so convincing the teachers even sent her home. Eat dinner outside after school? Her mother was enraged at the sudden change of plans, and the chicken rice was frosty cold, but it had been easy enough to follow this one, albeit a grounding for a day or so afterwards. The warnings remained trivial, so far. No life-changing decisions. No sudden demands to cut off everyone in her life. Just her future self, patiently guiding her away from danger to ensure both of their safety.

Then one night, she saw it in her Future Diary. Another ominous, foreboding warning about danger. This time, filled to the brim with urgency and panic. The words were scribbled, untidy, like they were written in a rush with trembling hands. Jeanne stared at the illegible words for a moment, wondering what could have sent her future self into such a disturbed state before dashing into reading it.

“‘Dear Jeanne of 2026, the danger is coming up soon. It is so very near and it is much closer than you think. I don’t want to tell you the details because knowing the danger won’t help you avoid it and I wouldn’t want to ruin your life like that. If you insist you want to know and I’ll definitely tell you when the danger has passed—I don’t mean to endanger you. For now, just listen to me.’” She paused, sounding unfinished and awkward. No sign-off? No warning? Just a reassurance that she had Jeanne’s best interests in mind and a “listen to me”? That couldn’t be it. It was absurd. And ridiculous, so ridiculous Jeanne wanted to cackle her head off. That couldn’t just be it. She needed something, if not how could she avoid danger just like that? She remembered how ignoring the warning had nearly cost her life the last time—she was determined to not repeat the same mistake twice. But she couldn’t do that if there wasn’t even a warning for her to follow.

She flipped the book around, brushed through the pages hurriedly. There had to be something else, there had to be, there! Jeanne looked at it excitedly to see what it said.

Connor is the danger

Her blood ran ice cold.

Her brain refused to process it, like there was fat in between her brain and the rest of her body.

Her arm shook while holding the diary.

Her mind told her, “How can it be? Connor is the danger?”

Her voice came out, trembling with vibrato, “No flipping way.”

There was a long, dramatic silence, the only thing filling the space was the sounds of her ragged breathing and the calm voice in her going, “Breathe in… breathe out…” again and again, yet she would still not calm down. Disbelief was a miserable choice of vocabulary to describe this, it was more like Jeanne would place her entire faith that the sun rose from the east before ever even comprehending, for a single second, that this could be true.

It couldn’t be.

That was what she told herself when she went to school the next day. Then the days that followed, one after another, where she just kept chanting to herself like a mantra, it couldn't be true, it couldn’t be true. Because how could it be? Jeanne had been close to accepting the truth, perhaps Connor was really the danger—not directly, maybe he would lead her into the belly of it. But then he would show up in school, flash her a charming smile that would’ve once had her wooing over it for days. Now all she felt was a nauseating churn in her stomach. How could he be the danger? All he seemed to want was everyone to be happy and get along with each other. If that boy was a danger it was from being too friendly and well-liked by his peers.

Somewhere around this part of her thoughts, the panic would start to rise up again, an ebbing tide, and she would have to push it down with the mantra—it couldn’t be true.

It couldn’t be true.

It was okay. She would be okay. Jeanne told herself everyday, every night. He was just a crush, a high school fling, and one day when she was safe and warm in bed with no sort of ‘danger’ always looming around the corner, she would think back about how silly she was, tearing out her hair over a boy that she’d never see again after graduation. This thought comforted her slightly. And she really was about to recover, really. Maybe she could’ve moved on with life. It really was all Connor’s fault.

“Jeanne, I have something to tell you.” His face was so cute and nervous that day, illuminated by the Monday morning light. “I wanted to say that you’re… the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met, and I don’t just mean your appearance but both inside and outside. I’m so blessed to have met you and really enjoy every single moment I spend with you. I’m not trying to force us into any relationship because we don’t have to be something, having the privilege of knowing you is enough for me. I just wanted to let you know that… I like you, Jeanne, for who you are.”

She had never experienced wanting the burst into tears right there and now so strongly before. They were raging an immense war behind the eyelids, screaming to be let out. Were they happy or sad tears? Jeanne didn’t know—it was probably both. Because, one part of her was blasting every single love song in musical history, dancing to an unheard tune, partying like it was the last day on earth. Yet the other just went…

“Frick.” The tears were really close to exploding out of her eyeballs. Any moment now. “Why are you telling me this?” Her voice cracked at the end of the sentence, she wanted to slap herself.

His expression remained earnest and yearning. That alone sent a dagger through her heart. Was it all an act? The genuine love could practically be felt thrumming beneath his eyes. But Kaya had taught Jeanne well. People could seem eternally faithful and devoted to being by your side. And yet, once you blinked, they were gone, looking down from the other side. Under this semblance, was a boy plotting her downfall. She would never know, because his act was so flawless, even the words of warning at the back of her mind disappeared for the slightest moment. “What do you mean? I’ve been thinking about you non-stop ever since I realised how much you meant to me. I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, I just didn’t know how to,” he gushed.

“Stop!” was what she wanted to scream. Instead, Jeanne said, “Thank you, Connor. I like you, I really do. It’s just that…”

She couldn’t bear to continue her sentence. The light in his eyes diminished a bit, like someone had thrown a cloth over the lamp. “It’s fine, Jeanne. We can just be friends.”

“No!” I don’t want to be just friends. I want to be more than that. I want to hug you and kiss you and do whatever romantic things there are to do with the boy you like—no, the boy you love. I love you and I’ve loved you even before you even knew my name and I think you’re the most perfect boy in the world. Please don’t go. Please stop.

That was what she thought as he shook his head, “Oh. I’m so sorry. I ruined this, didn’t I?” His face was like a sad puppy. It was so pathetic she wanted to punch him. No, she wanted to punch herself, for putting him in a state like that. He kept going on, “Never mind. How silly of me. I really thought this would work out. I must be annoying you. I’ll go.”

“No,” she cried out, or at least she wanted to, but it came out as a feeble, desperate whisper.

He didn’t hear her. Just kept walking away, further and further until he was just a tiny dot in the horizon. The hallway was lit in the evening light, spilt yolk all over the lockers and walls, casting a golden hue. What an ironically beautiful sunset. Paired with a beautiful boy, the boy she wanted walking away. He’d been right there. All she had to do was say one word: Stay. So why didn’t she?

It was the worst moment in her 15 years, she had never felt grief quite like this, tearing her apart like wolves tearing apart their prey. And the funniest part about the pain was, she let it wash over her body, let it stab her over again because she knew she deserved it. Mercy wasn’t something she was allowed. Her senses were lit on fire. Was she a witch in the Salem trials being burnt on the stakes alive? When she closed her eyes, she couldn’t really tell.

~

The last entry came. Finally. Jeanne’s senses had been stripped away, and all that was left was an ore of a girl that once lived.

She reached home after letting go of what she had yearned for months to find a new page of her diary, previously blank, now covered in ink. She tried to read it, but her mind couldn’t process anything.

“When is the danger coming?” she wondered out loud. Could it come any sooner? She was getting impatient. The end had to be coming soon, the end to all of this. She was tired and all she wanted to do was lie down and never have to feel like something was out to get her again.

Attempt two was a success. She blinked hard, commanded the last bit of her will to read it. “Dear Jeanne of 2026, Come to the place where it all started. Bring no one. Love, Jeanne of 2027.”

Her mouth set into a hard edge. She knew where it had all started. She recalled it, clear as daylight. The window she once pressed her face against. The tinkle of the bell, inviting her to come into the store. The races with Asta. Saying they needed the future diary more than oxygen. She remembered.

Bring no one. Right on cue, her phone pinged. A message from Asta: what are you doing? Before her mind had even registered it, her fingers were moving. Blocked. Reported. Muted. She could hardly believe she was doing such a thing.

Her mind had completely been taken over, it was like being infected by a zombie. A strange sensation—the tingle in your limbs that something not quite rational was controlling them. Either way, she didn’t register the beautiful night sky as her legs walked out of the house. Nor did she hear her Mom yelling, “Jeanne, where are you going? Jeanne, come back!”

The night sky stretched endlessly, a velvet canvas scattered with shimmering stars. A gentle moonlight bathed the world in silver, while constellations whispered ancient stories above. It felt like standing beneath infinity, quiet yet breathtakingly alive. Yet Jeanne didn’t feel anything.

Not as she walked to the store. It was empty and dark, closed for the night. Not as she saw the figure, waiting outside the store. Not when every cell in her body screamed to run but her legs just continued walking.

Then she saw what the figure was holding. A book with “TTT SciencesTM” inscribed in the back. “Future Jeanne?” she asked, bewildered, finally returning back to reality. But… how?

“Future Jeanne? Oh, no.” The figure pulled down its hood to reveal not Jeanne, not Jeanne in a years time but a middle-aged man with eyes so evil they could mean no good. His lips twisted into a cruel, wicked grin. “You fool. Jeanne is dead.”

Jeanne could hear her breathing, it was deafening, moving faster than a freight train. Her heart was a jackhammer, pounding on her chest desperately to be let out. “But…”

“Jeanne Adderson died on 30th December 2026. She never made it to 2027, most unfortunately.” Looking at my shocked face, he laughs, a cold cackle with an utter lack of amusement in it. “How, I knew you must be wondering. Well, I didn’t do it. Future Me did. I’m just continuing the legacy.”

“Didn’t what?”

He had no response, and it came to Jeanne a second too late, crashing down on her like a waterfall. She glanced down at her phone and saw the date 30th December 2026. There was a message from Connor: i’m so sorry about just now are we still friends? But before she could reach down to answer, she felt two hands wrap around her throat and that was the very last thing she felt, ever.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a prestigious platform celebrating diverse voices in literature. Participants from around the world contribute works that explore a myriad of themes across poetry, short stories, essays, and creative writing. The competition fosters a vibrant community of writers and poets, encouraging creativity and literary excellence. It serves as a testament to the universal power of storytelling, offering a stage for both emerging and established writers to showcase their talents.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Chen An'An for sharing "The Future Diary" with us in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Your narrative has captivated readers with its imaginative exploration of time and human connection. We appreciate your contribution and look forward to witnessing more of your creative endeavors in the future.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.