When Hate Writes Back
Chapter 8 — Mirrors Everywhere
By the start of the week, I was starting to wonder if I was losing my mind.
Every time Keifer did something small — a perfectly timed comment, noticing when I was struggling with something, even a random sarcastic quip that strangely mirrored advice my pen pal had given me — my stomach twisted.
It wasn't love. Not yet. Just… curiosity. Confusion. Frustration.
During history class, the teacher asked a question I wasn't confident about. Before I could raise my hand, he leaned slightly forward from across the room and muttered, "You got this. Just think it through."
My pen pal had written something similar just yesterday: "Take a deep breath. Trust your brain, Jay. You know more than you think."
I froze, staring at him. Did he… read my messages? No. Impossible. He couldn't know. And yet, the words felt identical, the timing uncanny.
Estelle nudged me, grinning. "Stop staring at him like he's some kind of wizard."
"I'm not—" I started, then stopped. She was right. I was staring at him like he was magic.
By lunch, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Every move, every comment, every little word he said seemed to echo the advice I'd treasured for years from someone else entirely.
I logged into my pen pal chat that night, typing hesitantly:
"It's happening again. Things he does… it's like he's reading my mind. Or maybe I'm losing it."
The reply came quickly, calm and comforting as always:
"Not losing it. Sometimes life lines up in ways that feel too precise to be random. Watch closely, El. Pay attention."
I bit my lip, staring at the screen. Watch closely. Pay attention.
I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe… the boy I hated at school wasn't as separate from the boy I loved online as I thought.
But no. That was impossible. Right?
Oblivious. Completely oblivious.