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Sometimes, the most cheerful, happy-go-lucky people are not at all what they seem.
Take my subordinate Channah, for example. She's as sunshine as they come. Bright, always smiling. Always seems like she's got this invisible glow around her whenever we connect during a virtual meeting. With her beautiful eyes and luscious lips and--ahem, anyway. She's the reason I connect to work every day with a smile on my face. Only her.
And all I ever knew of her was that bright, bubbly side. Until my buddy's girlfriend gets me to use a device that accidentally sends me through time--and all my impressions of Channah are thrown out the window when I come face to face with Past Channah.
She's angry. Depressed. Walks around with a cloud over her head, like the world is all doom and gloom. Absolutely hates life.
This isn't Channah.
Except--it is Channah. It's Channah from six years ago.
And evidently, I'm the one who helps her. Who guides her toward the light, so to speak. The problem is, between the guilt in my heart over something terrible I committed years ago, and my festering feelings for this woman, I can't think straight. Let alone help someone. I'm really not the guy for the job. Even if I have to be. Even if the flow of time depends on it.
