I've always been curious, in a way that can't be ignored. Once something catches my attention, I follow it until I know the whole story. That stubbornness has gotten me into trouble before, but it has also kept me alive in ways I don't often think about.
Classes finally started, and life became a blur of lectures, assignments, and campus errands. My schedule was hectic, but I thrived on the structure
....it made me feel like I belonged, like I was finally stepping into the life I had imagined.
I hadn't spoken to my parents in a while, so after a particularly long day, I called them. Their voices felt like an anchor, grounding me in the midst of the chaos. We spoke about my roommates, the hostel, the new friends I was slowly making, and the little routines I was forming.
They reassured me I'd adapt quickly, and in that moment, I knew they were right.
But the most significant change in these few weeks wasn't academic. It was social. I was learning how to connect, how to bond with others without losing myself.
Normally, I lived inside my head, a world of sketches, threads, and imaginary conversations, but now, laughter and chatter filled my days.
I found myself talking more, observing more, and even sharing little pieces of myself with my roommates.
Elizabeth was the easiest to connect with. She had a warmth that made everyone around her feel lighter.
And yet, despite the noise of college life, something else was stirring, something I couldn't ignore.
It was a message from an unknown number.
A guy.
Most likely.
The kind of intrusion that makes your stomach clench with annoyance and curiosity all at once. He said I shouldn't worry about how he got my number. I couldn't help but frown at the audacity.
I made it clear, I wouldn't respond until he explained who he was and what he wanted with me. And still… I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't random. Somewhere deep inside, the blue thread hummed softly, tugging at my senses, reminding me that connections have a way of finding you whether you're ready or not.
I spent the rest of the afternoon pacing between classes and the hostel, my mind half on my assignments, half on the thread I could feel hovering invisibly, vibrating with a presence that was at once familiar and foreign. I wondered what it wanted, why it had chosen to reach me now, and whether it was a warning, or something far more dangerous.
By the time evening came, I was exhausted, yet strangely alert. The blue thread pulsed faintly, almost as if it knew I had noticed the message. I could feel it stretching, reaching, waiting. And I knew, without fully understanding why, that nothing about this thread—or the person behind it—was going to be simple.
The first real touch of fate had arrived, and I was standing directly in its path.
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