30 Days to Unmake a Monster

Chapter 4: Shadows of the Paradox and a Bowl of Cold Porridge

The world flipped on its axis in a heartbeat. A visceral wave of nausea slammed into Raka’s stomach, as if gravity had unceremoniously ripped his soul from his body and shoved it back in upside down. His ears rang with a piercing, high-frequency hum before a heavy, absolute silence swallowed the room.

Raka collapsed onto the floor, still clutching Luna. She felt impossibly light in his arms, almost like he was holding a fading mist. He glanced at the clock on the wall. The second hand was ticking normally, but the digital calendar on his desk told a different story.

Three days were gone. They had simply vanished into a chronological black hole, triggered by nothing more than a sincere embrace.

Luna? Wake up, Luna! Raka gently tapped her cheek. Her face, which had been deathly pale moments ago, now looked almost translucent under the flickering glow of the overhead bulb.

I told you, Luna whispered, her voice sounding like the rustle of dry parchment. Her eyes fluttered half-open, dim and hollow. Love is the most toxic catalyst for this machine.

Just as Raka started to lift her toward the bed, a cold dread crawled up his spine. The temperature in the stuffy apartment plummeted until his breath hitched in a small cloud of frost. Beneath the front door, a shadow—darker than any natural night—began to seep into the room like ink bleeding through water.

The shadow had no defined shape, just a faceless humanoid silhouette radiating an aura of pure, unadulterated void. It didn't move; it simply existed there, but its presence made the air thick and hard to breathe.

What is that? Raka’s voice shook. He pulled Luna closer, retreating from the door.

An Echo, Luna managed, her breath coming in shallow gasps. It’s a projection from the future you’re creating. The more we try to change fate with our emotions, the larger the Echo grows to ensure those changes don't shatter the stability of the universe. If it gets in, it will erase me even faster than the clock.

Raka stared at the door in horror. He was a designer who usually only feared missed deadlines and client revisions, not metaphysical entities trying to scrub his wife from existence. A strange, defiant courage swelled in his chest. He stood up, carefully setting Luna down on the sofa.

I don't know if you can hear me, but you’re not coming in here! Raka shouted at the shadow. He snatched a long steel ruler from his desk—the only weapon he had at hand. I’m fixing my own life! I don't need some ghost from the future looking over my shoulder!

The shadow flickered for a moment, as if reacting to his voice. A heavy, suffocating silence hung in the air for what felt like an eternity. Slowly, the shadow began to shrink, retracting back under the door. The temperature climbed back toward normal, though the concrete floor still held a lingering chill.

Raka sank to the floor, his metal ruler clattering against the tiles. His heart was hammering so hard he could feel it in his fingertips.

Is it gone? he asked, not looking back.

For now, Luna replied weakly. She tried to sit up, smoothing her messy hair with trembling hands. But it’ll be back. And every time it returns, it’ll be stronger. That’s the price of that hug, Raka. Three days lost, and a sentinel of time awakened.

Raka fell silent. He looked down at his hands—the same hands that had felt the steady thrum of Luna’s heartbeat just moments ago. He felt foolish. He felt utterly powerless. Before him was a woman who was literally suffering for his sake, and all he had done was make it easier for fate to kill her.

I’m hungry, Raka said abruptly, trying to cut through the oppressive tension. You must be starving too. All you’ve had since this morning was that burnt toast you made yourself.

Luna looked at him, bewildered. Raka, we were just nearly erased from history, and you’re thinking about your stomach?

That’s exactly why! Raka stood up, his movements more deliberate this time. I don't know how much time we have left. But if I’m going to be a better man, I have to start with the small things. I’m going to cook. And you... you just sit right there. Don't move, don't use any of your future magic, and don't you dare disappear on me.

Raka walked into his cramped kitchenette. He opened the fridge to find a pathetic stash: a carton of eggs, some wilted green onions, and a bag of rice. With clumsy but focused movements, he began to wash the rice. He tried to remember how his mother used to make porridge when he was sick.

From the sofa, Luna watched his every move. Her eyes held a mix of confusion and a tiny spark of hope that she tried desperately to suppress. The Raka she knew in the future never set foot in a kitchen. To him, a kitchen was for servants, and eating was a mere biological necessity to be finished as quickly as possible so he could get back to making money.

The sound of simmering water and the scent of cooking rice filled the quiet apartment. Raka chopped the green onions with painstaking care, even if the pieces were uneven. He fried an egg, browning the edges until they were crispy—exactly the way he liked it.

An hour later, a bowl of porridge topped with the egg and a handful of green onions was placed in front of Luna.

It probably won't taste like a five-star meal from your future, Raka said, handing her a plastic spoon. But this wasn't made by a machine or some instant tech. It was made by these hands... as pathetic as they might be right now.

Luna stared at the bowl for a long time. The steam rose to hit her face, bringing a faint flush to her pale cheeks. She took a small bite, swallowed, and went still.

It’s salty, she noted flatly.

Raka rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Yeah, I might have gone a little overboard with the salt—

But, Luna cut him off, taking another spoonful, this time more quickly. It’s much warmer than any of the lavish meals you gave me during ten years of marriage.

Raka felt something tug at his heart. It wasn't the jolt of a temporal paradox, but a genuine warmth. He sat on the floor near Luna’s feet, keeping enough distance so he wouldn't trigger another synchronization.

Luna, Raka called out softly. Why did you choose to come back? You said the future version of me is a monster. Why didn't you just leave? Find Adrian or someone else who would treat you better?

Luna set down the half-empty dish. She looked out the window at the flickering lights of Jakarta, a city that never slept.

Because the Raka I fell in love with is still in there, Luna said, pointing toward his chest. The Raka who had dreams, who was sincere, who would go through the trouble of cooking salty porridge for a stranger who ruined his life. The man you are right now is the reason I held on through ten agonizing years. I didn't come here for revenge, Raka. I came to save the man who made me fall in love for the first time.

Raka was stunned. He felt as if he could finally see the mountain of grief Luna carried on her shoulders. All this time, he had been preoccupied with how much his life had been disrupted, never realizing that she bore the weight of a failed future.

I’ll promise you one thing, Raka said, his voice taking on a rare gravity. I’ll follow your crazy curriculum. I’ll learn how to fight, I’ll learn how to be jealous—I’ll learn whatever you want. But don't ask me to stop caring about you. Because if I have to become cold and heartless just to save time... wouldn't that just make me the monster you’re so afraid of?

Luna looked at Raka, her gaze intense and unwavering.

A single tear she had been fighting back finally broke free, wetting her hand. That is the paradox, Raka. To save our marriage, we have to learn how not to love each other in the conventional way. We have to learn to love across a distance.

Luna stood up, her energy seemingly restored after the meal. She tapped the interface on her wrist, and the glowing red digits stabilized, though the countdown now read 24 days.

Get some rest, Luna commanded, her voice returning to its icy, detached tone. Tomorrow is the Third Simulation: Wealth and Betrayal. I am going to give you a massive sum of money, and we will see exactly how fast it rots your conscience.

Luna walked to the bed and lay down, turning her back to Raka as she always did. But this time, Raka did not feel like an outsider. He cleared the table with a faint, subtle smile on his lips.

As he switched off the light, he stole a final glance toward the door. The dark shadow was entirely gone, but Raka knew the real battle was only beginning. He was not just fighting fate; he was fighting himself—the version of him destined to become a monster through his own success.

In the darkness, Raka whispered under his breath, I am not going to let the porridge go cold in the future, Luna.

Unseen on the bed, Luna bit her lip to stifle a sob. Raka’s words were the sweetest kind of poison for her mission, and she feared she might not be strong enough to keep playing the part of the heartless mentor.