Time is fiction, a creation to justify being. Places we have been changed, alongside memories of it. We are capable of convincing ourselves an alternate version to a particular story, tweaked into our favour to soothe what could have been. As for that someone, time came to halt by how we last remember them, as we are also capable of acknowledging our own change while assuming others stayed the same, though it is true for those who passed to the other side. If the past is modifiable to the extend of our imagination, and that 'past' is labelled as time, then how sure are we that time is real other than a functional measurement to reason with being? An existential blindspot I'd say.