Chapter 1: The Text Message (Part 2)
925 Words
Anyway… back to the text message.
Who even sent that?
I didn’t know — and honestly, I had too much garbage running in my brain to analyze it right now. So I shoved it aside like I always do with problems I’m not emotionally equipped to face.
Finally, after what felt like five hours of nonstop stories, Shinrah left. I swear my ears needed therapy after that. She’s sweet, but damn, that girl talks like she’s being paid per syllable.
With her gone, a new quest unlocked inside my head:
Strategic Avoidance: Best Friend Edition.
Because if she keeps showing up like a side character with too much screen time, I might lose my last functioning brain cell.
I mean, technically I say I’m good at strategies — I even brag about being a chess player — but let’s be real, my chess skills are suspicious at best. Sure, I know the moves, the rules, the opening names. But strategy? Ha. I use the same opening every single time like some NPC programmed with only one line of code.
But manipulation?
Oh. That one, I somehow do without thinking.
My friends always ask me how I “pull it off,” and I honestly don’t know. Maybe I’m just naturally charming? Or maybe people just get intimidated by my face. Joke. I’m painfully average. The kind of average that blends into a crowd. So when random gays at 7/11 started yelling my name like they were summoning a demon… bro, I wanted to evaporate. I just smiled like a civil human being even though inside I was screaming curses in all languages known to mankind.
I’m good at pretending I’m fine when I’m not.
That’s my real skill.
Some days, I feel ugly as sin. Other days, I feel like God’s favorite, like some actor everyone secretly has a crush on. But beauty is subjective anyway — and my brain is an unreliable narrator.
Speaking of unreliable: my friend — the chess genius, allegedly — is the most arrogant human being on Earth. Dude acts like the universe revolves around him. He brags about being good at math but trust me, he isn’t. Not even close. I don’t know where he gets the confidence. Maybe he downloaded it illegally. But whatever — this story isn’t about him. Ugly guy. I won’t even see him for a while.
But… I’ll lowkey miss my red-flag crush.
Yeah, sue me. I have a heart somewhere in this mess.
My friends always call me a manipulator, and honestly? They’re not wrong. With girls I’m not even interested in, it’s effortless. I somehow get into their heads without trying. It just happens. But with someone I actually like? Nah. Suddenly I lose all my powers. It’s like they’re immune to whatever “skill” I have. They dodge every bullet I shoot.
Anyway, enough rambling. Time to go home since the mall refuses to provide beds for emotionally unstable college students.
When I got home, I was starving. I hadn’t eaten breakfast, so my stomach felt like a black hole swallowing my organs. I opened our rice container…
EMPTY.
Like my hopes.
Like my bank account.
Like my emotional availability.
I hated my brother for it, but hey — karma, right? I don’t pay jeepney fares, so life decided to collect payment through hunger. I cooked rice, which takes like 30 years, and while waiting, I just drank water like it could fill the void.
When the rice finally cooked, I opened the pot dramatically like I was unveiling treasure…
No side dish.
Not even a sardine.
What did the universe expect me to pair this rice with?
Imaginary fried chicken? A hallucination? My own tears?
I had no choice but to go to the nearest “convenience store” — which is not convenient AT. ALL. I spent my hard-earned money on food that wasn’t even satisfying. Again: karma for my jeepney sins.
Finally home, I ate while watching YouTube. Food + videos = temporary happiness. My stomach was full, my heart slightly less empty… until I checked my phone.
The deadline of our assignment was TONIGHT.
Bro.
I wanted to throw my phone out the window.
And of course it was assigned by the professor I hate the most. The one who teaches by reading the PowerPoint like it’s a bedtime story and translating every word into our language like we’re toddlers. Sir, just send the PDF, please. Spare us.
But we’re students — we complain about easy tasks, complain about hard tasks, complain when there’s no task. It’s the cycle of academic suffering.
Too bad I didn’t have data to open my editing apps.
Karma number three.
When does this cycle END?
But hey… at least my crush was online.
Not Shinrah — no, no — another girl. The one who somehow hijacked my heart after a month of denial. I messaged her once and she ignored me like I was dust floating in the wind. Fine. Two can play that game. She has pride? I have more.
But then… my attention drifted back to my notifications.
That text message.
The one from earlier.
WHERE ARE YOU NOW?!!!!
The punctuation screamed panic, anger — or something worse.
I stared at it again.
My chest tightened.
My fingers froze.
My breathing got weird.
Because something about the message felt wrong.
Familiar.
Heavy.
Who was it?
Who would text me like that?
My brain whispered a single name again, soft and cold:
Liam.
But…
Who the hell is Liam?
- Writer
