Final Chapter: The World Goes On, and I Remain

The world did not end.

It simply—no longer fit together perfectly.

People sometimes lose their way at an intersection, unable to say why.
Sometimes a conversation feels familiar, as if it has already happened, yet no one can recall when.
Occasionally, a surveillance camera captures an extra frame, later dismissed as aging equipment.

No one speaks of “versions” anymore.

Because the world has learned something:

Instability does not equal failure.

I live in that old building.

Not all the time.
Just occasionally.

It does not belong to the city’s plans, nor does it appear in any updated map.
And yet, those who need it can always find it.

Sometimes, I come.

Not failed versions.
But—versions still hesitating.

I do not persuade them.

I tell them only one thing:

“You don’t have to become the answer.”

Zhou Wan visits now and then.

She no longer tries to determine who I am.

We talk about the weather, the city, and sometimes, our dreams.

Once, she asked me:

“Do you regret it?”

I thought for a moment.

“If the world allows only one correct way to exist,” I said,
“then the fact that I existed at all was trouble enough.”

She smiled.

At night, I sit by the window, watching the city lights flicker on and off.

A few lights still turn on twice.

But no one feels uneasy anymore.

Because the world has finally learned one thing:

Not every existence
has to be chosen.

And I—
am the error that was allowed to remain.

—The End—