When Hate Writes Back
Chapter 10 — Uncanny Timing
It had been one of those days where everything felt off — the hallway too crowded, the classroom too quiet, my own thoughts too loud.
I sat in math class, staring at the complex problem on the board, tapping my pencil against the desk. No matter how hard I tried, the answer wouldn't come. My frustration was bubbling, and all I wanted was someone to tell me it was okay to be stuck for a moment, just like my pen pal always did.
A shadow fell across my desk. I looked up.
"Need a hand?" Keifer asked, leaning slightly over my shoulder. His hair fell over one eye, and his expression wasn't smug this time — it was… attentive.
I blinked. "Uh… what?"
"The problem. You're stuck, aren't you?" He didn't wait for me to answer. "Try breaking it down. One step at a time. Start from what you do know, not what you don't."
My chest tightened. My pen pal. Exactly the words they would have used. My fingers hovered over my notebook as if I could write it all down before my brain exploded.
I swallowed hard. "Uh… thanks," I muttered, voice small.
"You're welcome," he said casually, turning away. And just like that, he was gone — oblivious as ever to the storm he had just caused in my chest.
At lunch, I could barely focus. Estelle noticed immediately.
"You're… zoned out. Did he do something?" she asked, eyebrows raised.
"Nothing," I said quickly, but my hand trembled slightly as I opened my laptop. My pen pal's chat glowed on the screen. Fingers flying, I typed:
"It happened again. He… he said exactly what you said. I can't believe it. It's impossible. How can someone who's been nothing but infuriating also say the words that have been keeping me sane for years?"
The reply appeared almost instantly:
"You're noticing patterns. That's good. Pay attention. Sometimes the world nudges us in ways we don't expect."
I stared at the screen, stomach twisting. Nudges. Patterns. The boy I hated at school — completely oblivious — was doing exactly what my pen pal would have done.
Estelle leaned over my shoulder. "Okay… you're staring at him again. I swear, one day, you're going to melt right there in class."
I groaned. "It's not like that," I muttered, though my cheeks betrayed me with a hot flush.
By the time I got home, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Every little thing, every tiny coincidence, was stacking up like bricks in a wall I couldn't climb over.
Could it really be…? No. That was impossible.
And yet, the possibility — the tiniest, most terrifying possibility — lingered in my mind.
Oblivious. Completely oblivious.