Just as I was complaining to the ceiling about how dry and uneventful my life had become, my phone buzzed. Curious, I glanced at the notification—only to be greeted by something I never expected.

Johan had just sent me a follow request on Instagram.

Oh, hell no.

When I said my phone was dry, I didn't mean this. What on earth was I even manifesting? Who was out there in the universe listening and thinking this was the answer?

With a dramatic sigh, I tossed my phone aside like it had personally offended me. “God’s granting all the wrong wishes,” I muttered under my breath. “How do I get my brain to stop uttering such nonsense?”

Later that evening, me and my friends parted ways from our so called friends date, I found myself walking alone through the dimly lit streets back toward campus.

The craving hit me mid-step—strawberry milk. That sweet, artificial kind from the convenience store near the dorms. Without thinking twice, I changed course.

As I strolled toward the store, I must’ve zoned out completely because the next thing I knew, my foot caught on absolutely nothing—yes, nothing—and I was flailing forward like a tragic character in a low-budget drama.

Faceplant imminent.

But just before I kissed the concrete, a strong arm wrapped around my waist, steadying me like it was scripted.

“Careful,” a calm, warm voice said near my ear.

I looked up—blinking in surprise—and met the gaze of an absurdly handsome stranger. Messy dark hair that somehow looked styled, deep-set eyes that held a glint of mischief, and a jawline sculpted by gods I clearly hadn’t been praying to properly.

Mortified, I scrambled back onto my feet. “I—thank you. And sorry,” I muttered, eyes darting anywhere but at him.

What was with me lately? Falling into the arms of beautiful men like I was starring in some overdramatic webtoon. What the hell was I manifesting, and why was the universe so intent on making it real?

As I was about to mumble another apology and scurry away, he reached out and gently touched my shoulder.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his tone kind but curious.

“North,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant despite the chaos in my chest.

He smiled. And God, what a smile. Soft, slightly crooked, but devastating.

“Hello, North. I’m Thun.”

Before I could even respond to Thun’s dazzling smile, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Incoming call: Mom.

My heart dropped.

Shit.

I had completely forgotten to send birthday gifts to my nieces. Again. My mom’s wrath was inevitable.

“I—I have to go,” I stammered, giving Thun an apologetic smile before turning on my heel and speed-walking away like my life depended on it. “Sorry! Nice meeting you!”

“Wait, North—” I heard him call faintly behind me, but I didn’t dare stop. There were only a few things in this world more terrifying than a disappointed mother, and I was about to face one of them.

By the time I reached my dorm, I was breathless. I threw myself onto the bed like a medieval heroine dying of a broken heart and finally picked up the call.

“Hello?” I said meekly.

And then it began. The Impact.

My mother unleashed a verbal monsoon about responsibility, thoughtfulness, and how children remember things like birthdays forever. I placed her on speakerphone and let her words wash over me like background static while I stared at the ceiling in existential dread.

To distract myself, I opened Instagram and began scrolling aimlessly. Influencers pretending to be relatable. Friends reposting memes. Ads for shoes I’d looked at once and now couldn’t escape.

Then I saw it: a follow request from a distant relative. Harmless. I tapped “Accept”—only to realize, in my foggy distraction, I’d also accepted Johan’s request.

No. No. No.

“NOOOOOO!” I cried out, sitting upright in a panic.

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “See? Even you know you’re in the wrong,” my mother said, clearly thinking my outburst was guilt-induced. “Good. I hope you’ve learned.”

Then she hung up, fully believing her scolding had left a lasting moral impact. She had no idea it was an entirely different crisis unraveling me from the inside.

I flopped back onto the bed, groaning. The one person I never wanted to engage with now had a direct line to my digital soul. Johan was definitely going to think I was playing hard to get. That I’d been loving his attention all along. That I was interested.

I stared blankly at the wall, willing myself to merge with it.

“If I stare hard enough,” I whispered, “maybe I’ll become a wall. And if I become a wall, there’ll be no more North. No North, no anxiety. Just… plaster and peace.”

The thought almost made me smile. Almost.

I rolled over with a dramatic sigh, burying my face in the pillow.

Then it happened.

Ping.

New Message: Johan.

My body froze. My fingers hovered. Should I open it? Should I pretend I hadn’t seen it? Should I delete Instagram and flee the country?

Curiosity—my greatest weakness—won.

Johan:
Well, I thought you disliked me. Fancy seeing you accept my request.

The audacity.

The confidence.

I stared at the message for a solid minute, as if it might delete itself. I could feel the secondhand smirk radiating from the text alone. The worst part? He wasn't wrong. Not entirely.

I tossed my phone onto the bed like it had personally betrayed me.

Now what?

I lay there staring at the phone like it had grown fangs. Johan’s message glared back at me, smug and unbothered, as if he knew he had the upper hand in this mental chess game I never asked to play.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Do I leave him on read? That would make me look cold. Unbothered. A little mysterious, even.

Or do I reply with something vague and cryptic? Like “lol” or “oh?”

But what if he thinks that’s flirty?

God, what if everything I do now just reinforces the delusion that I want him in my life?

I rolled on my bed dramatically, punching my pillow. “Why me? Why now? Why him?”

As if summoned by the gods of dramatic irony, my phone buzzed again.

Johan is typing...

I screamed internally. Could he not? I was already drowning in existential dread—why pour gasoline into the fire?

New message.

Johan:
I knew you couldn’t resist me.

Oh hell no.

I sat up like a corpse rising from the grave. “I’m gonna fight this man.”

But deep down, I knew this was partially my fault. I manifested chaos, and now chaos had a name—and that name was Johan.

I tapped out a response, deleted it, rewrote it, deleted it again. The internal debate was getting out of hand. Should I be passive-aggressive? Should I pretend this is normal? Should I gaslight him into thinking this was all an accident?

Eventually, I settled on the safest option.

Me:
Wasn’t intentional. Misclicked.

Short. Sweet. Devoid of emotion. Not flirty. Not mean. Just... diplomatic. The Switzerland of replies.

Seconds later, he responded.

Johan:
Misclicked, huh? Is that what we’re calling fate now?

This man was impossible.

I let out a frustrated groan and fell back onto the bed, dragging my blanket over my face.

“Universe, if you’re listening,” I whispered, “I need you to redirect all energy meant for romance into snacks, sleep, and money.”

As if in cruel response, the wind outside howled, and a notification popped up.

Thun sent you a friend request.

I sat up slowly, blinking at the screen.

Oh.

Oh no.

Is this what the universe is doing now? Love triangle? In this economy?

I bit my lip, the gears in my brain grinding painfully.

So now we had Johan, the unwanted ghost of situationships past… and Thun, the unexpected (and very handsome) stranger with the nice hands and god-tier smile.

I had a sinking feeling this was only the beginning of something ridiculous.

And possibly romantic.

But mostly ridiculous.