I woke up to my alarm like it personally offended me.
My head throbbed. My eyes burned. My body felt heavy in that annoying way where you're not tired anymore—you're just done.
I stared at the ceiling.
For exactly three seconds.
Then my brain remembered.
The cat.
The messages.
The "Eat. Fix it. Sleep, DumbKitten."
"Oh," I muttered. "Great. So now I'm hallucinating emotionally unavailable men with cat profiles."
I grabbed my phone.
No new messages.
Of course.
Why would there be?
This wasn't a fairytale. This was my life. People showed up, said intense things, and then vanished like they'd never existed.
I rolled onto my side and unlocked the screen again, just in case.
Still nothing.
Hm.
Okay.
Whatever.
I dragged myself out of bed, tied my hair into a messy bun, and shuffled to the bathroom. My reflection looked… rough. Puffy eyes. Dry lips. That familiar tired-girl look that screamed she's been holding it together with vibes only.
I washed my hands.
Then washed them again.
Then once more, because my brain said what if they're still dirty?
OCD: 1
Me: losing patience
I splashed water on my face and applied lip balm like it was a survival tool. Then I stared at myself.
"You're fine," I told my reflection. "You're literally fine."
My reflection did not believe me.
I went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, stared inside, then closed it again.
Food felt like a chore.
My phone buzzed.
I froze.
Slowly, like it might explode, I picked it up.
Unknown notification.
From the writing platform.
I swallowed.
Another comment.
From him.
Username: @whyisthiscatreading
My heart did that stupid jump again. I hated it. I also didn't stop it.
I opened the comment.
@whyisthiscatreading:
Why didn't you update yet?
I blinked.
"Hain?" I whispered.
It was barely 9 a.m.
Sir. Please.
I typed back before my common sense could intervene.
Me: It's morning??
His reply came instantly.
@whyisthiscatreading: So?
I stared at the screen.
Excuse me?
Who wakes up and chooses violence like this?
Me: Normal people need time.
@whyisthiscatreading: Normal people don't write like you.
My fingers paused.
That… wasn't rude.
It wasn't sweet either.
It was just… matter-of-fact.
Like he'd already decided something about me and built rules around it.
I leaned against the kitchen counter, chewing on my lower lip.
Me: You're weird.
Typing bubbles appeared.
Disappeared.
Then—
@whyisthiscatreading: You noticed.
I snorted.
Okay. That was annoying.
And funny.
I sighed and opened my laptop, not because I wanted to—but because something about his message made my chest itch.
Like I was supposed to.
I opened my draft.
The cursor blinked.
Judging me.
"You better behave," I muttered to the screen.
I typed one sentence.
Deleted it.
Typed another.
Deleted that too.
Ugh.
My phone buzzed again.
@whyisthiscatreading: Eat first.
I frowned.
Me: How do you know I'm not eating?
His reply came slower this time.
Like he was choosing how much to reveal.
@whyisthiscatreading: You write better when you're starving. That's a pattern.
My stomach flipped.
That wasn't normal-reader observation.
That was… paying attention.
I grabbed a banana aggressively and took a bite like I was proving a point.
Me: Happy now?
@whyisthiscatreading: I will be when you finish it.
I rolled my eyes so hard my ancestors felt it.
But I finished the banana.
And then, annoyingly, I felt better.
I hated that even more.
I went back to the laptop.
This time, the words came.
Not softly.
Not politely.
They came like they were done waiting for permission.
My fingers moved faster. Lines poured out—sharp, angry, honest. I didn't censor myself. I didn't soften the pain. I didn't apologize for the way it sounded.
When I finally stopped, my chest felt lighter.
I uploaded the chapter without rereading it.
Bold of me.
My phone buzzed.
Immediately.
Like he was refreshing the page like a psycho.
@whyisthiscatreading: Good.
That was it.
Just one word.
And why did it feel like praise again?
I closed my laptop and dropped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling.
"This is unhealthy," I told myself. "You're getting validation from a stranger with a cat DP."
My phone buzzed again.
@whyisthiscatreading: Did you wash your hands again?
I sat up.
"What the—"
Me: How would you even know that?
A pause.
Then—
@whyisthiscatreading: You do it when you're anxious.
I stared at the screen.
My chest tightened.
This wasn't flirting.
This wasn't teasing.
This was someone watching the details I didn't even know I was exposing.
Me: Stop psychoanalyzing me.
His reply was instant.
@whyisthiscatreading: No.
I huffed.
Me: Why are you like this?
This time, he took longer.
Long enough for my heart to slow down.
Then—
@whyisthiscatreading: Because nobody ever protected you when you needed it.
My throat went dry.
That wasn't a guess.
That was a statement.
Like he knew.
Like he'd read between every line I'd ever written and found the truth sitting there, shaking.
I didn't reply.
I didn't know how.
So I did the only thing I could.
I asked the question I shouldn't have.
Me: What do you want from me?
The typing bubbles appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Then finally—
@whyisthiscatreading: For now?
I held my breath.
@whyisthiscatreading: Write. Eat. Don't apologize. Sleep on time.
I stared.
"That's it?" I whispered.
That wasn't manipulation.
That wasn't flirting.
That was… rules.
Rules I didn't remember agreeing to.
Me: And if I don't?
His reply came sharp.
@whyisthiscatreading: Then I'll remind you.
I exhaled slowly.
I didn't know why, but that sentence didn't scare me.
It grounded me.
I typed one last thing, my fingers lighter now.
Me: You're annoying.
His reply came instantly.
@whyisthiscatreading: You'll survive.
I smiled despite myself.
Just a little.
Because for the first time in a long time…
Someone wasn't asking me to be smaller.
They were asking me to stay.
And that felt dangerous.
But also…
Right.