Submitted by Mahnoor Fatima
on January 09, 2024
** QUANTUM SHORTS 2023/2024: SHORTLISTED
>> Read an interview with the author
It looked like a fever dream, just like he had mentioned. A place with crystallites of recollection embedded in a landscape that was itself beyond recognition. Stretches of dark clouds on an already dusky sky were barely allowing the twilight to break through them. As I took a deep breath and started walking on the empty sidewalk, I could see the sun sinking in the horizon, much like my palpitating heart. The cold air and damp ambience did not make me feel any more welcome. This was where I was to find my wife.
Of all the worlds that she had visited, how ironic was it for her to be lost in the one that she knew the most!
She loved exploration, my darling Earhart. Traveling to new places and meeting new people was what she lived for. Even before our marriage, she had visited such far-off lands as I had never even heard of. And just when I thought the world was falling short for her wanderlust, there came the Inter-Worlds Travel Agency, the IWTA, with the promise of travel to parallel universes. How could she have said no to that, experiencing all the possible versions of our world and all that they offered? In fact, she was one of the pioneers of interworlds travel. She used to share the tales of her travels so excitedly after coming back. And then, gradually, she stopped.
It started as minor incidents. Her munching on chocolates only to gag at their sight after some time. Her switching from being a dog person to a cat person to ultimately abandoning them both. I ignored it as her usual eccentricity at first—something that I have always loved about her—but soon chaos set in. It became apparent that she wasn’t herself anymore. In fact, she didn’t even feel like her anymore. That gleam dimmed, that fire extinguished. That spirit which used to enliven my life couldn’t even carry the burden of its own existence anymore, those eyes giving the faintest hint of her lost self in the abyss of her scattered thoughts.
After consultation with numerous psychiatrists, all of whom failed to diagnose her condition, we got our answer from IWTA itself. Neuronal degeneracy—that’s what they were calling it. An unprecedented consequence of interworld expeditions. As it turned out, the trips had had a similar impact on other passengers too. They were blaming it on some errors in quantum encryption of the passengers, a procedure at the heart of teleporting the passengers to parallel universes. The investigation revealed that each trip was rewiring the passengers’ brains, preserving a different version of their consciousness in their memory. All these selves nightmarishly branching in their minds had gradually taken their toll on them, leaving their personalities inconsistent.
The more I moved forward, the more my heart sank. Each tread of my steps felt like a toil, each plonk of my boots a hammer on my heart. Every glance of mine yearning to see her again yet every fiber of my being afraid of a misstep. Of losing her. That’s how neuronal decoherence worked, like a coin toss. Like a gamble. Her only hope of recovery was based on pure chance. Of how her branched mind interacted with mine. Since it was still new, everything in this procedure was practically metaphysical. Identity. Attachments. Miracles. It was all down to hope, the hope of having it, or losing it all.
Then again, nobody said this was going to be easy.
“We may not be able to restore all of your wife’s previous consciousness.” Dr Sheikh had already asked me to be mentally prepared for any complication. He explained that while she would become one person again after the procedure, her consciousness had branched out so much that it was nearly impossible to have her back again. No one could predict the outcomes of the decoherence procedure—it was possible that she would not even recognize me anymore, let alone love me. “But if we’re lucky, we might be able to salvage some of her older self.” I guess he didn’t really know her, or else he would have never said it. Then again, he didn’t know her like I did. He didn’t know all of her, I did. And I loved her. All of her. And now, to save some of her, I had to lose some of her. How could I even do that? What could I choose and what could I leave behind? Her allure? Her vitality? Her flamboyance? Her vivacity? Her?
I must not think bad thoughts. Dr Sheikh had warned me about it. After all, I was Orpheus, out to rescue my Eurydice from this labyrinth of multiworlds. I mustn’t look back.
After meandering mindlessly amidst the wilderness, I finally saw someone standing afar at the end of the pathway. A murky silhouette faintly illuminated by twilight, its frail existence fluttering in the wind.
It was her, indeed!
I dashed madly towards her, my feet barely touching the ground. My lady, on hearing the chap of my steps, turned slightly and found an impatient me.
“Emily?” I stepped forward cautiously, trying to find any hint of recognition in her eyes.
Does she know me?
My heart was begging her to recognise me and love me again.
Does she love me?
I felt like walking in a quicksand, my heart sinking more and more with each step.
What does she think about me?
She stared at me, silently, questioningly.
“Hi, stranger,” she said in a gentle voice. And then they gleamed, her eyes. Her visage went lax and her eyes softened. As she slowly turned towards me, an angelic smile spread across her face.
Among the myriad universes that could possibly exist, this was where I was meant to be.
About the Author:
Mahnoor Fatima is an EdTech engineer based in Lahore, Pakistan, and aims for a career in quantum computing and science communication. In her spare time, she likes to pour her thoughts onto paper (or screen, depending on availability). An amateur writer, she mainly writes sci-fi and social commentary.
