ƎMIT‑TIME Services

No one has ever asked for their money back.

A room. Metal, glass, a display. A low hum. A cursor blinks. It smells kind of technical, she thinks, somewhere between a forgotten oven and a short circuit. She looks around, uncertain. Everything feels old and new at once, like something that doesn’t quite belong here.

Then the screen awakens. A logo appears: ƎMIT‑TIME Services. Beneath it: “We bring you back to your happiest moment.”

She repeats the line in her head. Something stirs – fragments of memory, elusive. A sentence, an image, a rumor about machines that can travel… through time. She doesn’t know where she picked that up. Maybe from a movie. But the name on the display triggers something. And suddenly it seems possible: yes, this could be one of those time machines. Another line flashes, almost like a slogan:

“No one has ever asked for their money back.”

She smiles. Of course – how could they, if everyone travels back to the time before the machine was invented? A real marketing pro must have written that one. Beneath it, a familiar date:

November 6, 2025. Today.

She hesitates, wondering if it’s safe. But the temptation is too strong. The thing looks functional, and the screen is asking for a target date. However she ended up here – this is the chance of her life.

The cursor blinks, as if daring her. A moment comes to mind: the summer after graduation. Sun, freedom, great journeys. She smiles – and discards it. Too much uncertainty, too much fear of what lay ahead. Another date: the day she met her first great love. A moment charged with electricity. But that too carries shadows – the ending, the pain. She thinks of times she would have chosen differently, but would she even remember the plan, or just repeat it all the same? Again and again she types numbers, erases them, starts over. Every moment tastes sweet and bitter at once.

“Ah, screw it,” she thinks. “Just get me out of here. Younger, much younger. But redo the degree? Hmm. No, better after. Right after maybe. Okay, skip the sports accident… yeah, that’s the one. When was it… June 1, 2005 should work. Twenty years tighter!” The cursor blinks. “Perfect. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” She feels the decision settle inside her. It feels right.

She enters the date, presses “Confirm”. The screen shifts. A field lights up: “Biometric verification required.” She places her hand down. A tone. Then the flat message:

“Traveler recognized.” – She exhales; it seems to work. Then:

“Only one journey per person allowed.
Your journey was completed 15 minutes ago.
Departure: January 12, 2036, 10:00 a.m.
Arrival: November 6, 2025, 10:00 a.m.
Thank you for using ƎMIT‑TIME Services.”

She stares at the lines, reading them again and again, as if a mistake might appear. But the numbers hold. “January 12, 2036. My birthday!” A thought stirs, vague, barely graspable: was it she herself who chose this moment?

Slowly, an inkling seeps into her mind. This day, this morning. Perhaps it was exactly what her future self… nonsense, she has only one self, and right now it’s anything but future. So had she chosen this day as the best moment of her entire life? In ten years – and fifteen minutes ago?

The door slides open. A hiss. Why do such doors always hiss when they open? She steps out, squinting into the light. She notices she wears no jewelry. A passerby wonders why a woman is emerging from a telecom switch box. A perfectly ordinary day. A perfect day, she now believes. She walks on, into this new today, into the happiest day of her life.

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