It was early one morning. I was sitting in my car scrolling through emails on my phone when I heard the sound of an engine approaching. I looked up to see a sleek, black sedan pulling into the space next to mine. Unlike me, the driver pulled in nose-first, coming to a smooth stop. The woman behind the wheel caught my attention—she was dressed in a sharp navy-blue suit, her hair neatly pulled back.

She sat there for a moment, adjusting something in the rearview mirror, before turning off the engine and stepping out of the car. Her heels clicked against the asphalt as she walked towards the building’s entrance. I watched her for a few seconds, noting how confident and purposeful her stride was. She had nothing in her hands, just the same air of someone who had done this a thousand times.

Satisfied with my observation, I turned my attention back to my phone. I needed to double-check a few details before heading inside. My mind wandered briefly to the presentation I had prepared, running through my talking points one last time.

Then, something odd happened.

I looked up again, and there she was—already walking out of the building. But this time, she was holding a thick document in her hand, with a bright red stamp prominently displayed on the top sheet. I frowned, trying to process what I was seeing.

It had only been a few seconds, maybe a minute at most. There was no way she could have entered the building, found the right office, retrieved the document, and returned to her car in that short span of time. The logic of it didn’t make sense. It was impossible.

Yet there she was, moving with the same graceful efficiency, now carrying a document that hadn’t been there before. She approached her car, opened the door, and placed the document on the passenger seat. As she did, she paused for just a moment, her eyes flicking over to meet mine.

A chill ran down my spine. Her gaze was unsettling—cool, almost mechanical. There was no recognition, no acknowledgement of the strangeness of the situation. She simply got back into her car, started the engine, and drove off, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

I sat there in stunned silence, replaying the scene in my mind. The rational part of me tried to come up with an explanation. Maybe she was incredibly fast, or maybe I had somehow lost track of time. But no matter how I looked at it, the situation didn’t add up. It felt as though reality had momentarily bent, revealing something it wasn’t supposed to.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. The meeting went on as planned, but I couldn’t focus. My thoughts kept drifting back to the woman and the impossibility of what I had witnessed. Had anyone else noticed? Was I imagining things? Or was this something deeper—a crack in the facade of the reality I thought I understood?

In the days that followed, I began to notice other strange occurrences. Small, almost insignificant details that seemed out of place. Objects moving on their own, people saying things that felt oddly familiar, and that persistent feeling of déjà vu. It was as if the world around me was starting to unravel, revealing the seams of a reality that wasn’t as solid as I had once believed.

The woman in the navy-blue suit had been the first sign—a glitch in the simulation, a brief glimpse into the underlying code of the world I thought was real. And now, every time I sit in my car, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll witness another crack in the illusion, another moment where reality slips and the truth reveals itself.