The Last Message from Tomorrow

Maya never thought the future would reach her through a single text message.

She was a night owl by habit, scrolling through endless feeds and memes until her eyelids drooped. At 2:03 AM, her phone buzzed on her nightstand, vibrating against a stack of unread books she always meant to finish. She expected another spam notification or a random meme from her insomniac cousin. But the preview froze her thumb mid-scroll.

“Don’t open the door tomorrow at dawn. –You, from 2045.”

She sat up, the blanket pooling around her waist. The message was there, plain as day, sitting in her inbox like a ghost. She checked the number. Unknown. No country code. No trace.

Half her mind laughed it off—some prank app, she figured. Deep fakes, AI nonsense. But she couldn’t shake the tiny needle of dread. She typed back, “Who is this?” and pressed send. The message bounced. Undeliverable.

She put the phone face down and told herself she’d dreamt it. She was tired. Finals were frying her brain. Maybe she’d fallen asleep with a documentary playing, something about time travel or wormholes.

At 4 AM, she was still awake. Every creak in her old apartment sounded like footsteps. The fridge compressor humming felt like it was counting down.

Eventually, the darkness lulled her under.

---

The sun broke through her curtains at 6:45 AM. She was tangled in her sheets when the knocking came. Soft. Deliberate. Three short raps, like a code.

Maya sat up, heartbeat thumping. She reached for her phone, hoping she’d imagined the whole thing, but the message was still there, staring at her. Don’t open the door tomorrow at dawn.

The knocking came again. She crept to the door, pressing her eye to the peephole.

At first, she saw nothing but the cracked hallway paint. Then someone stepped into view—she nearly fell backward. The woman on the other side looked exactly like her. Same eyes, same dark curls. But older. Maybe twenty years older. She wore a dark coat, and her eyes held an exhaustion that chilled Maya more than the uncanny resemblance.

The stranger lifted her hand and knocked again. Three taps.

Maya’s phone buzzed in her hand. Another message. No number.

“RUN. TRUST NO ONE.”

She dropped the phone. It clattered to the floor. The woman outside tilted her head, as if she could see through the wood.

“Maya?” The voice was muffled, but familiar. Her own voice, older, softer. “Open up. We don’t have time.”

Maya’s breath caught in her throat. She glanced at her phone, then at the door handle. Her hand hovered over the lock. She wanted to open it—some buried instinct tugged at her. Who wouldn’t want to see their future self? Get answers? A warning? A promise?

But the text. Run.

The door handle began to turn from the other side.

Maya stumbled back. She grabbed her coat from the hook, slipped her phone into her pocket, and ran barefoot out of the apartment.

---

The hallway was dim and smelled of stale coffee and dust. The door slammed behind her. She could hear it rattle as the woman—her—pounded on it from the inside. How had she even gotten in the hallway if she was outside the door?

Maya didn’t wait to find out. She bolted down the stairs two at a time, nearly slipping on the worn steps. Her phone buzzed again as she pushed through the lobby doors and burst into the early morning chill.

She didn’t stop until she reached the end of the block, leaning against a bus stop sign, gasping for air. She dug her phone out of her pocket. One new message.

“Don’t go home. Don’t trust anyone who says they’re you.”

Maya’s hands were shaking so badly she nearly dropped the phone again. She looked around. The street was empty except for a jogger and a dog-walker who gave her odd glances as they passed.

Her mind was racing. Should she call the police? Her mom? Her best friend? What would she even say? Hi, future me just tried to break into my apartment? They’d ship her off for a psych eval before lunch.

She decided to keep moving. She didn’t want to stand still long enough for whoever—or whatever—was pretending to be her to catch up.

---

Maya ducked into a 24-hour diner a few blocks away. The kind of place that smelled like burnt coffee and ancient bacon grease. She slid into a booth in the far corner, where she could watch the door. The waitress gave her a raised eyebrow but left her alone when Maya ordered nothing but a black coffee and a glass of water.

Her phone buzzed again. A new message. No number.

“Check the pocket. Hurry.”

She patted her coat, half-expecting it to be empty. Her fingers brushed something small and cold—she pulled out a folded piece of metal. A tiny key. Taped to it was a scrap of paper with an address. She didn’t recognize the street name, but it was here, in the city.

Her coffee went cold as she sat there, staring at the key. The diner door chimed every time someone came in, and each time she flinched.

She wondered what would happen if she went back. Would she find the woman waiting? Would she find herself?

When the sun was fully up, she left a crumpled bill on the table and slipped out the side door.

---

Maya found the street an hour later, after a dizzy bus ride where she kept checking her reflection in the window, half-expecting to see her older self staring back.

The address led her to a run-down storage facility on the edge of the industrial district. A sign on the gate read STOR-IT. Rows of metal units stretched out behind the fence like prison cells.

She used the key on Unit 117. The padlock popped open with a soft click. She pushed the rolling door up and peered inside.

There wasn’t much. A single metal filing cabinet. An old army duffel bag. A folded camping chair. On top of the cabinet sat a dusty laptop and a thick folder labeled: MAYA – READ THIS FIRST.

She sat cross-legged on the concrete floor, the metal cold under her. Her fingers hovered over the folder. She opened it.

Inside were photos. Blueprints. Newspaper clippings from dates that hadn’t happened yet. Headlines she didn’t understand: “Cybernetic Memory Implants Approved Worldwide,” “Global Blackout Hits Major Cities,” “Mass Disappearances Linked to ‘Mirror Project’.”

On the last page, scrawled in her own handwriting: “If you’re reading this, you didn’t listen. Now you have to run. Trust no one. Especially her.”

A noise outside made her jump. Footsteps. A shadow blocked the sunlight streaming under the door.

Then the knocking came. Three taps.

“Maya?” The voice was soft, patient. “It’s me. It’s you. Let me explain everything.”

Maya looked at the folder, the laptop, the shadows under the door. Then she grabbed the duffel, the folder, and the key. She didn’t wait to see if the door would hold. She found the back exit, pushed it open, and ran back into the blinding sun—into tomorrow, with yesterday chasing her heels.

---

END

Ending Author’s Note:

If you were Maya, would you open the door? Or run into the unknown?
Tell me in the comments — I’d love to hear what you would do if you got a message from your future self.
If you enjoyed this story, leave a heart, share it with a friend who loves a good sci-fi twist, and follow me for more stories that might just bend time itself. 🌙✨