A Simple Love Story
My coworker told me she'd seen a UFO.
It was an evening in 1999. She'd showered and was walking to evening study session.
Passing by a small grove, she saw flickering light coming from inside.
She walked into the grove. On the dry grass, a massive disc hovered—half the size of a school building—glowing blue.
A few seconds later, the disc rose vertically and disappeared into the clouds at dusk.
At first she thought it was a brief hallucination. But gradually, she noticed many things that were off.
First, time.
She remembered being in the grove for only a few minutes. But when she walked out, it was broad daylight—the next day.
Her parents thought she'd gone missing. When she came home, they frantically asked where she'd been the night before.
She looked at this home, but it felt deeply unfamiliar.
Her parents were the same as always, but something felt wrong in a way she couldn't articulate.
Her classmates were the same classmates, but something just felt off.
Later, she found out what it was.
The mole on her father's face had changed position. A few pieces of furniture were missing. A classmate had vanished—their name couldn't even be found on the class roster...
Later still, she grew older and read some science fiction.
She came to believe that witnessing the UFO that evening in 1999 had sent her into a parallel universe.
When she walked out of the grove, she'd arrived in a strange parallel world.
I first heard her tell this secret during overtime in 2012.
The office air conditioning seemed a bit cold. I said awkwardly, "That's actually kind of creepy, isn't it?"
She smiled and asked me: "Have you ever had that feeling? That... how to describe it... a chunk of your time just disappears, like it was stolen. You don't remember anything you did during that time at all."
I thought about it, and I actually had—back in elementary school. I fell asleep on a Friday night, looking forward to the weekend. When I woke up, it was Monday morning. I broke down crying and threw a tantrum. The adults thought I just didn't want to go to school and gave me a beating.
She said: "That's exactly the feeling. Actually, a lot of people have experienced it. They just don't take it seriously."
I said: "The beating part?"
She glared at me.
She said: "For some, it's hours. For others, minutes. Even just a few seconds that are hard to notice. A piece of your own time, just vanishing into thin air."
She said: "Going to another country gives you jet lag. Entering another timeline gives you time lag too. It's very possible that none of us are in our original world anymore."
I couldn't suppress a shiver.
I
Her name was Mandy. My coworker from a parallel universe.
The only reason I was privy to such an elevated secret was entirely because of something incredibly mundane.
Housing.
In 2012, housing prices were still within our reach. Both Mandy and I had bought apartments that year. Since I couldn't afford renovations, mine remained bare concrete. She had more savings and finished hers before summer.
On moving day, a few of us coworkers went over to help. I already knew our apartments were in the same complex, but I didn't expect them to be in the same building.
I couldn't help but remark: "What a coincidence!"
More than a coincidence. The elevator stopped at the 5th floor—my floor too. Mandy stopped at a door, and the number on it was 505. What a coincidence—my apartment was also 505.
I stood frozen in the doorway, holding a moving box.
This was my freaking apartment!
II
This was absolutely my apartment!
Same unit number, same leaky water meter box by the door. There was even one of those half-torn ads on the door that I'd never bothered to peel off months ago.
Because I couldn't afford renovations, it had always been a bare concrete unit.
But now, looking inside—sofa, TV, wooden floors, fabric décor... a lovely, understated aesthetic.
My head was full of questions. But with all our coworkers there, it seemed like any question would be awkward. I had to hold it in and tour the miraculously transformed apartment along with everyone else.
Later I made an excuse to leave early. Got in my car downstairs and sat there for a while before recovering enough to text Mandy.
"Mandy, can I see your property deed?"
She was puzzled but took a photo and sent it over.
I studied it for a moment, then called her.
I said: "Your unit number is 505, right?"
She said: "Yeah."
I said: "Look at your deed again. Does it say 506?"
She said: "Huh, it does... wait, WHAT?!"
III
So—Mandy, my next-door neighbor, had gotten the wrong unit number during her renovation.
Of course, it wasn't her fault. It was the property management's fault.
A junior employee at the property company had been cuckolded by his supervisor, who also publicly humiliated him. Various grievances led that employee to pull a retaliatory prank—he delivered my apartment to Mandy.
Strictly speaking, with the keys in my hand, the prank shouldn't have been feasible. But as luck would have it, there was a half-torn ad on my door.
A locksmith's ad.
By the time Mandy and I figured out the truth, that employee had already quit and disappeared.
IV
Both Mandy and I were stuck.
She returned the apartment to me, but all her renovation money was down the drain—she wasn't happy about that.
If I took her apartment, mine was 10 square meters smaller. There was no way I could afford the difference.
Before long, our parents showed up.
They'd come to give the property management a piece of their mind.
Since neither Mandy nor I could get time off, we both missed the scene of our parents storming the property office. All we knew was that property management kept deflecting, insisting they had to wait until the employee was caught before they could address the situation.
As for how to resolve the housing issue...
"It'd be best if both families could sit down and negotiate." That's what the property management said.
So the ball was kicked right back to us.
V
After work, I met up with my parents and took them out for dinner.
While serving them food, I noticed my mom kept messaging on her phone.
I asked: "Who's that?"
She said: "Mandy's mom."
I was curious. They'd spent all afternoon negotiating—I wondered if they'd come up with any solution.
My dad hesitated, then suddenly brought up the topic of knocking down walls.
He said: "We researched it this afternoon. The wall between 505 and 506 can be knocked down. Knock it through and you'd have a luxury living room."
I said: "Are you kidding me? You spent the whole afternoon and all you came up with is knocking down walls?"
My dad said: "That's not the main point. The main thing is, her parents and we both think you two would make a good couple."
I nearly spat out my rice. In a restaurant I didn't know about, a girl named Mandy was doing the exact same thing.
VI
Of course, neither of us could agree. You don't start dating over an apartment.
So the problem remained shelved. Our parents went back to their hometowns. The property management waited for the employee to be caught. The employee kept running. Mandy kept living in 505, and I kept renting elsewhere.
Life went back to normal, except our lives intersected a lot more now.
A few times, she told me: "I feel really bad about this. If only I'd double-checked the deed, you wouldn't be homeless."
She said: "How about I pay you rent?"
I waved her off: "Don't worry about it."
But she couldn't let it go. Since she made her own lunch every day, she started making an extra portion for me. At first I tried to decline, but her cooking was genuinely good, and I couldn't resist.
Some coworkers noticed we'd gotten close and asked me quietly what my relationship with Mandy was.
I thought about it. Friends? Neighbors? Co-tenants? A lingering housing dispute?
"In short, it's complicated." That was my summary.
VII
The summer of 2012 rolled in at an easy pace. Time circled back to that evening of overtime where this story began.
That evening, only Mandy and I were left at the office. The light of dusk came through the floor-to-ceiling windows, falling on our feet.
I went to her desk to check some data. While we were talking, I suddenly noticed her expression was strange.
I said: "Are you feeling unwell? You should head home early."
She shook her head, gazed out the window, and after a while, said abruptly: "This reminds me of that evening in 1999."
I paused.
She said: "Sam, do you know? I saw a UFO in 1999."
"The kind with aliens?" I tossed out casually.
Seeing my interest, she told me the story of encountering a UFO and winding up in a parallel universe.
"It's very possible that none of us are in our original world anymore."
When she said that, I couldn't help but shiver.
Seeing me spooked, she smiled and reassured me: "That's just my guess. Maybe I'm the only one who accidentally entered a parallel universe... after all, only I saw the UFO."
"But..." I rubbed my chin. "Have you ever thought about how to get back to your own universe?"
I don't know what possessed me—overtime, and I was humoring her crazy talk.