6
I couldn’t stop thinking about the text.
“Don’t forget, she thinks you’re me.”
It looped in my head for hours after I left. I kept trying to reason with myself and explain it away. Maybe it was a bad joke between friends. Maybe it was about someone else. Maybe it wasn’t even from his phone. Maybe—
Maybe I was just afraid of the truth.
I should’ve confronted him or screamed or stormed or at least asked. But I didn’t.
Instead, I waited and acted like nothing was wrong.
I checked my phone too often. I stared at the ceiling at 2 a.m., mind racing. I re-read texts he’d sent me, looking for clues. Reread my notes. And still, I wanted him.
Even if part of me thought he might be lying. Even if I was starting to believe he might not be who he said he was. I wanted him to show up and make
