Everyone thinks Sylvia has a good, balanced life.
But behind closed doors and behind a practiced smile that convinces everyone she's fine, something inside her is quietly unraveling.
When she meets a stranger who seems to know her better than she knows herself, Sylvia is offered an impossible choice, a chance to return to what was broken long ago.
And once she says yes, nothing will ever be the same.
Everyone thinks Sylvia has a good, balanced life.
But behind closed doors and behind a practiced smile that convinces everyone she's fine, something inside her is quietly unraveling.
When she meets a stranger who seems to know her better than she knows herself, Sylvia is offered an impossible choice, a chance to return to what was broken long ago.
And once she says yes, nothing will ever be the same.
Autumn always arrived quietly in Tassendell. Sylvia noticed it in the way the trees along her street turned gold overnight and the parks seemed to exhale. She lived on the second floor of a modest two-storey building. Her apartment had one bedroom, one bathroom, and a view of tall oaks and willow trees that whispered when the windows were open.
Most mornings, she passed the same small coffee shop with its striped awning, the bookshop that smelled of old paper and cinnamon tea, the family-run grocery store, and the barbershop where the owner always seemed to be mid-conversation. The street felt safe and predictable. And yet, by the time she reached her door each evening, Sylvia felt hollowed out, like she had left parts of herself scattered along the way.
At school, everyone loved her. That part was true. Her students clung to her words, her colleagues trusted her, and parents smiled with relief when they saw her name on their child's schedule. She was good at what she did. She was reliable. The kind of teacher people remembered years later.
None of that helped when she stood alone in her kitchen at night. Ten years. That was how long she had been trying to lose weight. Ten years of Mondays that promised change. Fresh starts written in aesthetic notebooks and then forgotten under the stack of school papers. Diets that began with confidence and ended quietly, usually with the glow of a television screen and a bucket of ice cream balanced on her lap. She drank too much coffee to survive her days, stayed up too late watching romantic movies she pretended not to believe in, and woke each morning already tired of herself.
The Browns lived down the hall. Sylvia thought of them as hers, even though she had never said it aloud.
Mr. Brown, once a soldier, still carried himself like one. Mrs. Brown had gentle eyes and hands that were always warm. They had traded a large house and garden for this small, sunlit apartment when age made everything heavier than it used to be.
When their children and grandchildren visited, the hallway filled with noise and laughter, footsteps echoing through the building. Sylvia always paused then, pretending to search for her keys, letting the sound wash over her.
Mrs. Brown adored her. She fussed over Sylvia the way only women of a certain generation knew how - insisting she eat, rest more, and smile more. She watched Sylvia’s cat Caramel when Sylvia worked late, always complaining with a laugh that he “pooped more than my grandchildren combined.” Sylvia loved Mrs. Brown’s casseroles, her warm kitchen, and especially her cinnamon rolls.
Mr. Brown talked politics the way other people talked about the weather. Newspapers spread across the table, debates blaring from the television. Whenever Sylvia passed, he launched into passionate commentary, and she nodded along, murmuring agreement at the right moments. It delighted him.
…
Tuesday, October 16th, 2025, began as ordinary as any other day.
Sylvia’s alarm buzzed somewhere under the pillow, rattling against the mattress like a tiny, insistent insect she didn’t want to face. 6:00 a.m. Sylvia winced. She had promised herself she’d wake at four in the morning for a run. Tomorrow would be different, she’d whispered last night. But now her body felt glued to the sheets, heavy with the kind of tiredness that sleep never touched.
One more snooze, one more lie.
Eventually, she dragged herself into the shower at six, letting the hot water do what it could with her stiff muscles. She stayed longer than she should, counting the rhythm of the drops, wishing she could stay here forever.
Breakfast was a quiet ritual, though Sylvia could never make it feel peaceful. She spread butter on a slice of bread, made a cappuccino, and scrolled through her phone. Shelly, young and impossibly organized, was already halfway through her day: gym, dog walk, flawless makeup, healthy breakfast. Sylvia could feel herself shrinking in comparison. She slammed the phone down before it could mock her further.
Down in the building’s parking lot, Sylvia slid into her crossover SUV. Onto the passenger seat went her laptop bag, a large tumbler infused with ginger, mint, and lemon, an oversized tote, her lunch bag stuffed with fruit and protein bars (even though she knew she’d probably cave and order tacos or burgers), and a towering stack of worksheets waiting to be graded.
She started the engine, then closed her eyes and drew in a slow, steady breath. Her bun suddenly felt unbearably tight, so she reached up and pulled it loose. Shoulder-length waves of light brown hair spilled over her shoulders, and with them came a faint, persistent throbbing at her temples. As the tension eased, her hair seemed to fall into place with a quiet sigh of relief.
Sylvia glanced at the vanity mirror. A pale face stared back - freckled skin, tired eyes, and quiet disappointment. She shut the mirror closed.
“Siri, play *‘Dream’ by The Everly Brothers,’” Sylvia said quietly, and drove off to school.
The school sat on a quiet, tree-lined street, surrounded by a wide patch of grass where children chased each other before the first bell. The building was a low and long two-story brick structure with large rectangular windows that let in plenty of light. The main entrance had a flagpole, a few trimmed bushes, and a small sign that read “Welcome to Elementary School” in bright blue letters.
Inside, the hallways smelled faintly of crayons, pencil shavings, and disinfectant. The walls were lined with students’ artwork, colorful posters about kindness, and cheerful bulletin boards that changed with the seasons. The classrooms were cozy, each with small desks, shelves of picture books, and hand-drawn charts taped to the walls.
Sylvia taught fifth grade. Her classroom was on the second floor. She went upstairs, greeting a few teachers along the way, and stepped into her room. Closing the door behind her, she switched on the lights and headed to her desk to begin her morning preparations. She needed to print math worksheets, set up an interactive science escape-room activity, feed the class hamster, Pedro, and, most importantly, remind herself to drink water. She usually forgot, surviving on coffee alone, but a recent health scare had forced her to be more careful.
Outside, the playground was slowly filling with students. Sylvia wasn’t on duty that morning, so she enjoyed the quiet time in her classroom before the chaos began. Still, she went down for the morning lineup. Her twenty-four students were all present today. They adored her, and that affection sometimes stirred a mix of admiration and jealousy among her colleagues, who often asked how she managed it. Sylvia never had an answer. She simply loved her students, and they loved her back.
Maya, a bright ten-year-old, was the line leader that day.
“Good morning, Miss Adam. Did you feed Pedro?” she asked.
“Of course I did, Maya. Let’s go now,” Sylvia replied with a smile.
The day went on. Sylvia’s classes ended at two forty-five, but it was Monday, and a staff meeting was scheduled afterward, something Sylvia dreaded. The curriculum coordinator from the district office was visiting, and the meeting was held in the large multipurpose room.
Her colleagues sat slumped in their chairs, yawning and exchanging weary looks. Sylvia’s work crush, Tariq, the third-grade teacher, was two seats away in the same row. Just seeing him sent a small rush of adrenaline through her. She knew there was no chance; a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine cover would never notice her. Shelly was there too, effortlessly stylish as always. She was a reminder of everything Sylvia felt she wasn’t. She sighed, pressed her lips together, and began taking notes, pretending to be interested in the curriculum coordinator’s speech.
The meeting finally ended at four-thirty, and Sylvia felt utterly drained. The teachers shuffled out of the room like zombies, except for a few new, overly enthusiastic ones who still seemed to have energy left.
If you could return to your childhood with the knowledge you have as an adult, but without changing the past, would you go? That's the premise of What if you could? by Sevile Amil. Set in 2025, the contemporary 40,000-word novella explores the life of a forty-six-year-old woman, Sylvia. The fifth-grade teacher goes through the motions of normalcy on the outside. Inside, she battles emotional pain and self-loathing without knowing why. Sylvia self-medicates with food and caffeine at her favorite coffee shop, fails at dieting, and avoids cleaning her apartment.
Sylvia envies her friend and colleague, Shelly, a younger, attractive woman. During Shelly's birthday party, Sylvia suffers a meltdown and flees. While at her coffee shop refuge, she is approached by Isolde, a mysterious woman with a strange offer. Sylvia accepts, which returns her to 1985. There, six-year-old Sylvia with her forty-six-year-old mind experiences her mother, father, older brother, and classmates as they really were, not as she remembered them.
Ms. Amil's novella starts with a typical day in Sylvia's life. An overabundance of details emphasize how ordinary it is. The author uses song titles to help set the mood and reveal her main character's personality. Driving to school early in the story, Sylvia says, “Siri, play ‘Dream’ by The Everly Brothers.” Later, she says, “Siri, play ‘You Can’t Hurry Love’ by Phil Collins.” Readers familiar with the songs might recall their own experiences connected to the words and music, even though the story doesn't recite the lyrics.
Ms. Amil demonstrates imagination in her word craft, with passages that show a playful use of language to lighten serious moments. “Leyla glanced up from the machines when she saw the two of them walk in together. Her eyebrows shot up so high they nearly hit her hairline. Sylvia only gave a tiny nod. Leyla’s curiosity practically shimmered across the room, but Sylvia had no space left to manage anyone else’s reactions.”
As the story progresses, the author's passion becomes stronger, as does Sylvia's resolve to live a authentic life, free from her past pain. Readers who have ever wished they could change, relive, or understand their past to create a better present and future will love What if I could? by Sevile Amil.