Chapter Text
It was a quiet night in apartment 4B. Amy was sleeping soundly, while Sheldon remained in the living room—or more precisely, in the zone.
In front of him were whiteboards filled with equations, annotations, and the scribbles of a mind in motion. Outside, the weather was cold and growing harsher by the hour.
Sheldon groaned. The wind was howling against the windows—it was obvious it would start raining soon. But he was determined. Nothing would distract him. Not this time.
He was in one of those rare moments when thoughts flowed effortlessly, his mind filled with complex theories and elegant experiments.
It was late, and sleep threatened to overtake him, but Sheldon resisted. He feared that if he closed his eyes, even for a moment, the brilliance of his ideas would vanish—ideas that might just be Nobel-worthy.
Exhausted, he sat at his desk and rested his head on his folded arms, letting out a long sigh as he stared at the whiteboard.
Suddenly, nothing made sense anymore. His thoughts swirled, unfocused. His head ached.
The weather had worsened. Rain now lashed against the windows, and thunder sounded in the distance. He had no idea how much time had passed. Hours, maybe. A flash of lightning lit up the room, and a thunder cracked loudly, startling Sheldon just as he reached for his cup of tea.
Maybe just a few seconds. Just to rest my eyes, he thought.
When he opened them again, everything looked exactly as he left it—except something felt... off.
He stood slowly, cautiously, and made his way toward the bedroom.
To his surprise, Amy wasn’t in bed.
She must be in the bathroom, he reasoned.
But twenty minutes passed.
No sign of her.
Where on Earth did Amy go?
Maybe she had gone across the hall to visit Penny. But that would be unlike her. Amy never left without telling him. Or at least, he thought she didn’t.
How inconsiderate of her, he muttered to himself.
Annoyed, Sheldon walked to apartment 4A and knocked on the door three times, repeating Penny’s name between each knock.
Penny opened the door, visibly irritated. “What is it, Sheldon? It’s way too early for you to be knocking like a maniac.”
Sheldon rolled his eyes. As if the time of day mattered.
“Good morning to you too, Penny. Would you mind telling me where Amy is?”
Penny blinked twice, confused. “What do you mean, where is Amy? I assume she’s in her apartment. Sleeping. Like I was, until you started to knock like a lunatic."
Sheldon raised an eyebrow. What was Penny talking about?
“Please, Penny, I’m not in the mood for nonsensical jokes. I need to know where Amy is. Last night, she was sleeping peacefully in bed. And now her absence is quite notable.”
Penny stared at him, the exhaustion on her face undeniable. “Do you have a fever? You always say weird things, but they’re Sheldony weird—not... whatever that was.”
“I assure you, my temperature is within its regular parameters. If you would simply allow me into your apartment, I can confirm whether or not Amy is hiding within.” He looked visibly exasperated.
“Okay, no one is hiding, Sheldon,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Amy lives in her own place. She’s not your roommate.”
Sheldon’s expression froze. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said finally, although the conviction in his voice wavered. “Amy moved in after we... after we reached a certain point in our relationship.”
“Relationship?” Penny repeated, confused. “You mean your girl-friend-boy-friend thing?”
“No. Our romantic—” He stopped. A chill went down his spine. He stepped back, staring at Penny like she was malfunctioning.
“Wait,” he said slowly, “You’re telling me that Amy is not my girlfriend?”
Penny gave him a look of genuine concern now “Sheldon, you and Amy dated for like a week, five years ago. She broke things off when you said she wasn’t scientifically adequate for your goals or whatever. Honestly, I'm surprised you didn’t remember that.”
Sheldon's heart skipped a beat.
This had to be a mistake. A dream. A simulation.
Or… an anomaly.
He slowly turned back toward apartment 4B, leaving Penny standing on the doorway with a confused look on her face. His mind racing.
Something had changed. Something had gone terribly wrong.
Sheldon closed the door behind him and stood in the middle of the living room, motionless. He looked around.
The whiteboards were still there. His notes were exactly as he remembered them. His cup of tea sat on the desk, half-full and now cold. Everything looked the same. And yet, it felt deeply, disturbingly wrong.
He paced slowly, analyzing the surroundings with growing unease. On the coffee table, the stack of scientific journals lacked Amy’s crossword book. Her purple cardigan wasn’t draped on the armrest. There were no traces of her ever having been there.
He walked to the bedroom again.
The bed was made—perfectly made. Not a single crease or hair on the pillows. Amy never made the bed like that. She always left a soft indent on the left side. The scent of her hair, usually faint but distinct, was absent.
Sheldon walked to the closet and opened it.
Only his clothes.
He reached for the top shelf. No Amy’s boxes. No spare flats.
He stared into the empty space and took a step back.
“This can't be possible,” he murmured. “This is not possible. I remember folding her laundry. I remember calculating the precise number of hangers required for both our wardrobes. We compromised on closet space. We compromised.”
He turned abruptly and headed to the nightstand. Amy’s copy of Pride and Prejudice, which she always read before bed, wasn’t there. Instead, a dusty psychology textbook he didn’t recognize rested in its place.
His hands trembled as he picked it up. Inside, on the first page, there was a name—Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler—but the handwriting wasn’t familiar. It wasn’t the neat, almost compulsively perfect script he knew. This one was rushed. Impersonal.
“Sheldon?”
His heart skipped again. He turned around quickly.
It was Leonard, standing at the doorway, holding a mug and looking half-awake.
“Are you okay? Penny said you were acting... stranger than usual.”
Sheldon stared at him. “Leonard. Good. You’re here. I require a full report on recent events regarding Amy Farrah Fowler and her involvement in this household.”
Leonard frowned. “Uh... Amy? You mean the girl you dated, like, five years ago?”
“Not dated, Leonard. We cohabited. We kissed. We shared toothbrush holders. We planned an eventual union recognized by law and family.”
“Okay… wow. That’s a lot to unpack at—what is it?—five in the morning,” Leonard said, glancing at his phone.
“She was here. She lives here. We live together. We’ve lived together for over a year.” Sheldon’s voice was rising now, panic creeping in around the edges. “We have a bathroom schedule and a shared calendar and a mutual understanding of breakfast etiquette!”
Leonard looked at him, concerned. “Sheldon… you live alone. You have for years. You’ve always lived alone.”
Silence.
The rain outside began to calm, but the storm inside Sheldon’s mind was just beginning to rage.
Sheldon didn’t respond.
He simply stared at Leonard, the growing weight of disbelief pressing against his chest. His thoughts ran through every possible explanation—quantum hallucination, dream-state cognition, temporal displacement, an induced delusion. But none of them satisfied him. None aligned with the cold, precise evidence around him.
Amy was gone. Erased from his world, and no one else seemed to notice.
“I… need some air,” he finally muttered.
Leonard blinked. “Wait—what?”
He tried to stop him, but Sheldon was already walking past him, into the hallway, then into the stairwell. The elevator was working again, apparently. Another inconsistency. Another anomaly.
He didn’t trust it.
The descent down the stairs was slow, deliberate. Each floor brought with it a thousand thoughts, possibilities, consequences.
He stepped outside into the pale morning light. The rain had stopped, but the ground was still soaked.
Sheldon stood in front of the building, scanning the street, then headed toward Amy’s apartment. He walked towards her apartment.
He didn’t know what he expected.
Maybe she’d answer the door, still in her nightgown, annoyed that he hadn’t texted first. Maybe she’d smile at him, as she often did when he got flustered. Maybe she’d pull him inside, and everything would snap back into place.
But deep down, he knew.
This wasn’t his Amy’s apartment. Not anymore.
When he reached the door, he paused, hand raised, but hesitant.
And for the first time in years, Sheldon Cooper felt truly, utterly afraid.
He knocked three times. “Amy.”
Knocked three more. “Amy.”
And again. “Amy.”
The door opened slowly.
It was Amy.
But not his Amy.
She looked exactly the same, like nothing had changed. Her expression, however, was the most foreign thing about her: it was polite, yes, but distant. Detached.
“Sheldon?” she said, puzzled. “Is everything alright?”
He stared at her, mouth slightly agape.
“I…” he started, but his voice cracked. “I… wasn’t sure you’d be here.”
She tilted her head slightly, curious. “Of course I’m here. I live here. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He couldn’t find the words.
“Amy,” he finally said, taking a step forward, his voice low, almost a whisper. “What do you remember… about us?”
Amy frowned, arms crossed now. “Us?”
His heart sank.
“You and I dated. Briefly,” she said after a pause. “But you said I wasn’t compatible with your goals. So… that ended a long time ago.”
Sheldon’s throat tightened. Her words hit like a thousand bricks.
“I’m sorry,” Amy added, misreading his expression. “Are you okay? Did something happen for you to come here so early?”
He looked at her. She was the woman he had loved. The woman who once shared his toothbrush holder, and whose laughter had rearranged the shape of his world.
And now… she was a stranger.
“No,” he whispered.
“Something.. did happened. And I think I need to fix it.”