The Confession Page

Chapter 2 - Who I Am

My name is Mika Reyes, and I'm a first-year college student at Northbridge University, taking up Bachelor of Arts in Communication. It wasn't exactly the course I had imagined for myself when I was younger, but somehow, I ended up here. Maybe because I like writing. Maybe because I like stories. Or maybe because I've always been curious about the things people don't say out loud.

I've always been the kind of person who notices small things—a change in someone's tone, a forced smile, or someone sitting alone in a crowded room. I tend to notice the things people try to hide, even when they think no one is paying attention. My friends call me an overthinker, and honestly, I can't really argue with them.

That was probably one of the reasons I joined the campus publication. I wasn't the loudest person in the organization, nor was I the kind of writer who could walk into a room and immediately make everyone listen. I was quieter than most people expected. I preferred observing first and speaking later. At the publication, I mostly worked on feature stories and student-related articles. Sometimes I covered university events, interviewed students and professors, or spent hours rewriting the same paragraph because it didn't sound right.

It wasn't glamorous, but I loved it. There was something satisfying about taking someone's story and turning it into something people could understand. Writing was probably the one thing in my life that made sense to me.

College life itself was a different story.

Most days were a constant cycle of classes, assignments, deadlines, meetings, and trying to survive group projects. There were mornings when I would arrive on campus with barely enough time to buy coffee, afternoons spent rushing from one classroom to another, and nights when I would stare at my notes for hours without remembering anything I had read. It wasn't exactly the exciting college life I had imagined, but I liked it anyway. At least, most of the time.

My friends made everything easier.

“Mika!”

I looked up from my phone as someone waved a hand in front of my face.

“You're doing it again.”

I blinked and looked at the person sitting across from me. It was Lara, my closest friend since the beginning of the semester. She had a talent for noticing whenever my mind wandered somewhere it shouldn't.

Beside her sat Ethan, another friend from our publication team, who was busy eating his lunch while scrolling through his phone.

Lara narrowed her eyes at me. “You've been staring at your phone for five minutes.”

“I was reading.”

“You've been staring at the same screen for five minutes.”

I looked down at my phone and realized she was right. The screen was still showing the same page—my messages. More specifically, the message I had received last night.

I know you're awake.

I had already read it more times than I wanted to admit.

I quickly locked my phone and placed it on the table. “I'm just tired.”

Lara gave me a doubtful look. “You were supposed to study last night, weren't you?”

“I tried.”

“And?”

“I opened my notes.”

“That sounds promising.”

“I stared at them.”

She laughed. “Very productive.”

I smiled, but the joke didn't completely distract me.

The truth was, I hadn't slept much.

Every time I closed my eyes, I found myself thinking about the confession page. I kept remembering the photograph of the old building, the red ID lace hanging from the doorknob, the unknown number, and the three knocks on my door.

Most of all, I kept thinking about the final message.

I know you're awake.

I still didn't know who had sent it.

I didn't know how they got my number, either.

And I definitely didn't know what they meant when they said that someone would remember me if I remembered them.

“Mika.”

I looked up again.

Lara was staring at me.

“You're doing it again.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

The answer came too quickly.

Lara noticed, of course. She always did.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded and forced a small smile. “I just didn't sleep well.”

She studied my face for a moment before finally letting it go. “Fine. But if you collapse during our meeting, I'm leaving you there.”

“That's comforting.”

“I'll at least take your bag.”

Ethan suddenly looked up from his phone. “Speaking of the meeting, did anyone finish the article about the student council?”

I shook my head. “I'm still editing mine.”

“You're always editing.”

“Because you keep giving me terrible drafts.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

I rolled my eyes, and for a moment, everything felt normal again.

Just another lunch break with my friends.

Just another ordinary day.

I almost convinced myself that what happened last night had been nothing more than an overactive imagination. Maybe someone had simply been messing with me. Maybe the confession posts were unrelated. Maybe the anonymous number belonged to someone who knew me. Maybe the knocking had come from another student.

There were reasonable explanations for everything.

At least, I wanted there to be.

After lunch, Lara and I headed toward the publication office. The campus was crowded with students rushing to their next classes, sitting beneath the trees, or talking with their friends. The afternoon sun reflected against the windows of the buildings, and the familiar noise of campus life surrounded us.

Everything looked exactly the way it always did.

Normal.

Familiar.

Safe.

We were halfway to the publication office when we passed the old building.

I stopped walking.

Lara took a few more steps before realizing I wasn't beside her. She turned around and looked at me.

“Mika?”

I didn't answer immediately. My eyes were fixed on the building.

It looked different during the day. Less frightening than it had in the photograph, but I recognized it immediately—the faded walls, the old windows, and the long hallway hidden behind the entrance.

The same hallway from the picture.

“What?” Lara asked.

I finally looked at her. “I've never been inside there, right?”

She frowned. “Inside the old building?”

I nodded.

“No. It's been closed for years.”

I looked back at the building.

Something about it bothered me. Not because it was abandoned or because it looked creepy, but because I couldn't shake the feeling that I had been there before.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a memory was trying to surface.

A hallway.

A door.

A red ID lace.

And three knocks.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to hold on to the feeling before it disappeared.

Nothing.

When I opened them, everything was still the same. The building stood quietly in front of me. Students were still walking around us. Cars were still passing outside the campus gates.

Everything was normal.

So why did I suddenly feel like someone was watching me from inside?

I looked toward the second-floor window.

Nothing.

Just dark glass reflecting the afternoon sky.

“Come on,” Lara said. “We're going to be late.”

I nodded and followed her.

This time, I didn't look back.

But as we walked away, I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened the night before. Someone had posted a picture of that building. Someone had sent me a message. Someone knew my name.

And somehow, they knew I was awake.

I told myself I would forget about it. I told myself I would go back to my normal life—classes, friends, writing, deadlines, and everything else I knew.

But deep down, I already knew that something had changed.

Because for the first time, I wasn't wondering who had made the confession.

I was wondering what had happened last year.

And why I couldn't remember it.