First message
I’ve never believed in soulmates.
Ridiculous concept.
You’re telling me out of eight billion people there’s exactly one?
Statistically offensive.
Life makes a lot more sense when you stick to things you can prove. Numbers. Spreadsheets. Tax codes. Ledgers don’t lie. People usually do.
So when the bank offered me a promotion in a city I’d never been to, I took it. Better pay. Better office. Fresh start. Seemed simple enough.
Three days later, I’m standing in a half-unpacked apartment with an Allen wrench in one hand and instructions that have somehow skipped from Step 4 to Step 9.
“Unbelievable.”
I tighten the last screw anyway.
Then someone says,
“Hello?”
I stop.
The apartment is empty.
“Alright,” I mutter, setting the wrench aside. “Before I embarrass myself by booking a doctor’s appointment…”
“Can you say that again?”
Silence.
Then the voice answers.
Not from the hallway.
Not through the wall.
From inside my head.
I stare at absolutely nothing for a long moment.
”…Well.”
I rub a hand over my face.
“Either fate exists…”
”…or I need an MRI.”
Somehow… I don’t think my insurance covers this.