I was enjoying my usual afternoon tea when a man materialized in the chair across from me. He looked oddly familiar, with graying temples and laugh lines I’d never seen in my mirror.
“Don’t be alarmed,” he said, helping himself to my tea. “I’m you, just twenty years older. Thought we could have a chat.”
I stared as he took a sip from my cup. “That’s my oolong.”
“Technically, it’s our oolong. Though I must say, your taste in tea has improved considerably over the next two decades.” He made a slight grimace. “This is rather bitter.”
“If you’re really me from the future, prove it.”
“Remember that embarrassing incident in third grade with the frog and Principal Liu’s toupee? The one we’ve never told anyone about?”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “Okay, you’re me. But why are you here?”
“Oh, just passing through timelines. Thought I’d stop by for tea with my younger self. It’s quite fashionable in 2043 - temporal tourism, they call it.”
“And they just let people travel through time for… tea?”
He shrugged, straightening his collar. “Well, technically it’s illegal. But so was downloading movies in our youth, and that never stopped us.”
“Won’t this create some kind of paradox?”
“Probably. But the universe has bigger problems than two versions of us sharing mediocre oolong.” He checked his watch - a holographic display that made my smartwatch look like a sundial. “Besides, the temporal police are remarkably inefficient. Like most government agencies.”
I leaned forward. “So, do I become rich? Famous? Should I invest in something specific?”
“Now, now,” he waggled his finger, “you know I can’t reveal future events. Though I will say that your decision to keep that ridiculous collection of rubber ducks finally pays off.”
“My rubber ducks?”
“Just trust me on this one.” He finished the tea and stood up. “Well, time to go. The temporal aperture only stays open for about five minutes, and I’d rather not get stranded here. The internet speed in 2023 is atrocious.”
“Wait! You can’t just leave. I have so many questions!”
“That’s the point of life, isn’t it? Finding our own answers.” He straightened his jacket. “Oh, and one more thing - that manuscript you’re working on? The one you’re too afraid to show anyone? Send it to publishers. Trust me.”
Before I could respond, he disappeared with a soft pop, leaving behind only an empty teacup and a faint smell of ozone.
I sat there for a long moment, staring at the space where my future self had been. Then I noticed something on the table - a small note written in my own handwriting, though neater than I remembered:
“P.S. - You might want to switch to green tea. Trust me, your stomach will thank you in twenty years.”
I pushed away my cup of oolong and sighed. Sometimes the future arrives in the strangest ways, even if it’s just to critique your choice of beverages.