Chapter 1: The Stranger with My Face
421 Words
July in Amber City was a furnace, steeped in a suffocating haze. The ginkgo trees along the sidewalk shimmered like relics in the heat, their leaves barely rustling. I walked with my scarf pulled high, covering my face. In this season of recurring flu, no one paid attention to a masked stranger—but I couldn’t risk being seen.
Not when there was another “me” living out my life.
Outside the care home, cicadas screamed in the trees. Beneath an ancient ginkgo, an old man played chess with a young caregiver—my age, mid-twenties. I stood by the fence and watched.
He moved with quiet confidence, placing each chess piece like it belonged to him. The old man opposite him laughed, eyes crinkling with admiration. Around them, residents were chatting, playing cards, humming songs.
The flu barely registered in this little world.
And he—he belonged there.
I didn’t.
My name is Liam. Or it was. Because the man under that ginkgo tree, the one they called Liam—he had my face, my name, my smile.
If he’s Liam, then who am I?“Liam! You kept your chess skills hidden!”
the old man joked, his eyes bright with mischief.
Of course I did. I don’t know how to play chess.
My fingers curled tightly in my pocket, fists clenched around a jealousy I couldn't swallow.
The man pretending to be me just laughed. “Mr. Chen, you’re giving me too much credit. I’m only filling in
for Mr. Feng today—don’t tease me.”
Mr. Chen guffawed. “You’re a good one, Liam. Come back and play anytime.”
Another voice chimed in. “Don’t hog him, Mr. Chen! He promised to paint with me later.”
“And he’s singing with me next!” someone else called.
The voices layered over each other, warm, affectionate.
I stood outside the fence, body trembling.
Why was someone identical to me here?
Did I stare too hard? His eyes flicked up and locked onto mine. Just for a second. But that second split the
world open. I saw something shift in his expression, as though he saw past the scarf, right into me.
He rose. Without a word to the elders, he stepped out from the tree’s shade—and walked straight toward me.
Through the haze of cicadas and summer and flu, he came closer. With every step, the question clawed louder
in my mind:
If he’s me…
Then who the hell am I?
- Writer
