Xtramood -

The icon vanished. The dial disappeared. And for a moment, she felt nothing at all—no honeyed gold, no bruised purple, no neon pink.

She was lying in bed, scrolling past photos of her ex—him smiling with someone new, her arm around his neck. The old Lena would have felt a dull ache, then moved on. But the new Lena reached for her phone.

Selected.

She selected .

She was on her floor. The room was the same. But something had shifted. She could feel the other timelines pressing against her skin—ghost lives, parallel selves, all whispering “You could have been me.”

A new message appeared below the dial, written in the same elegant sans-serif:

The phone vibrated—not a purr this time, but a deep, resonant hum, like a gong. The screen flickered. For a split second, she saw herself reflected not once, but a thousand times: Lena who moved to Paris. Lena who stayed with her ex. Lena who became a doctor. Lena who died at twenty-two. XtraMood

Not to the app—to herself .

The frustration of being stuck in just one body, one life.

One morning, she chose —a sepia glow that left her hollow and yearning. The next, Righteousness —a blinding white that made her argue with a barista about oat milk. The icon vanished

Lena hesitated. What did she want? Happiness seemed too loud. Sadness too familiar. She placed her thumb on the dial and twisted gently—past pale yellow, past soft pink, until it settled on a warm, honeyed gold.

Then the vision vanished.