Date: 26 December 2024
Location: Sector 9B, New Haven City
The night
was still, blanketed by the winter fog that slithered through alleyways and
coiled around lampposts like ghostly fingers. Inside a modest apartment on the
9th floor, Mr. Cookie sat slouched on his couch, a half-eaten slice of cake
resting on a paper plate beside him. The clock ticked past midnight.
His
birthday.
Again.
Another
quiet one. No calls — just a few texts. He didn’t mind; he preferred silence
over shallow small talk. But he knew it was coming.
And just
like clockwork, his phone screen lit up.
An eerie glow in the darkness.
His heart sank slightly.
Not again…
The
notification blinked, but something about it felt off this time. The message
had no timestamp. No preview text.
[1 New
Message Received]
From: Cosmic Explorer
Mr.
Cookie’s heart gave a subtle lurch.
(murmuring) “Who the hell is this? Every damn year…”
This
wasn’t the first time. In fact, every year for the past five years, at this
exact time, this unknown account sent him a birthday message — always cryptic,
always unsettling — then vanished without a trace.
He opened
the message.
It simply read:
“Happy Birthday,
my entangled twin.”
Mr.
Cookie furrowed his brows.
Typing…
Mr. Cookie: Hey, thanks for the wish… but who are you really? For 5
years, you’ve been sending cryptic birthday messages and then disappearing.
What’s your real name?
Stranger: A companion from your past.
Mr. Cookie: Past? Like school? College? What do you mean, companion?
Have we ever actually met? I don’t remember you.
Stranger: We’ve met, countless times —
just not in a place you'd recognize. Our meetings happened in the ripples of
time. In fragments between dreams. In frequencies beyond your waking
perception. We are… entangled.
Mr.
Cookie stared at the message, a chill crawling down his spine.
Mr.
Cookie: What?
Entangled? Are you some kind of AI? A prankster? Enough with the cosmic poetry.
When, specifically, have we met? What year? What place?
Stranger: 13.8 billion years ago.
Stardust. That’s where you were born. That’s where I saw you — you were
collapsing inward, gathering mass. I was spiraling beside you. We were twin
quarks born in a supernova’s breath. Stardust sculpted us the same, but fate
molded us into opposites. You are… my entangled particle. Always.
Mr.
Cookie: You’re
insane. What kind of nonsense is this? This is getting creepy. Just say who you
are.
Stranger: Perhaps. But so are the laws
of quantum entanglement. And if I tell you my real identity, then I already
did. I’m your past companion… a memory that didn’t belong to just this
lifetime.
He
hesitated. He’d studied theoretical physics in college. That phrase — entangled
particles — wasn’t unfamiliar. But this felt beyond theory. It felt
personal.
Mr.
Cookie: Okay.
Enough riddles. What’s your actual identity?
Stranger: My identity? I’m your secret
admirer. Or let’s say we share a common bond. Individually, we’re each a half
of it — and we could have met, if fate had allowed it… if you had walked left
instead of right.
Also… you write beautifully. Words are your fingerprints across timelines.
Mr.
Cookie dropped his phone.
Shaking, he picked it up again.
Mr.
Cookie: So
you’re saying you’re... another version of me?
Stranger: Not another. A tethered self.
A mirrored outcome. A fractured reflection.
You are the echo. I am the origin… or maybe it's the other way around.
Mr.
Cookie: Stop
this. I swear I’ll block you this time.
Stranger: Block me. But how many echoes
will you block? How many shadows? How many... you?
I’ll just return through another frequency. A radio wave. A dream.
A song lyric on the radio you swear you’ve heard before.
You can’t block what was born with you.
Mr.
Cookie: Why
do you keep messaging me only on my birthday? Why can’t you just reveal the
truth?
Stranger: Because I am the truth you’re
not ready to meet. I am the problem.
And problems… aren’t always supposed to be solved.
Mr.
Cookie: One
last question. Why do you do this?
Stranger: To remind you: not everything
forgotten is gone. Some things… are just waiting for you to remember. One day
you will. Until then…
Mr.
Cookie (tensed): Until
then?
A long
pause. Then, one final message:
“Happy
Birthday once again, Mr. Cookie.
May the entanglement persist.
See you next year… if timelines permit.”
(At the same time as I always do.)
The
message vanished. Not deleted — faded.
The account was gone. Again.
And Mr.
Cookie’s phone screen?
It was still blinking. But now…
It showed:
Last
seen: 13.8 billion years ago.
He tried
to screenshot it.
His phone froze.
When it
restarted, the message thread was gone.
No account. No contact. No trace.
He didn’t
sleep that night.
And from
that day on, every time he looked in the mirror,
he wondered if he was the reflection —
Or just someone else’s memory walking through the wrong timeline.
Every message Mr. Cookie receives is a puzzle piece — a whisper from a stranger who might be more than just that. It’s a reminder that some mysteries don’t want to be solved, and some connections transcend time and space. Whether it’s fate, memory, or something far stranger, one thing is clear: some birthday wishes linger long after the candles are blown out.
What would you do if the past kept calling you every year, just when you thought it was gone?
Okay, that’s all for today’s story, folks! Hope you enjoyed this little dive into the strange and mysterious. I’ll see you again with the next story — until then, keep wondering about those messages you never expected.
This is Celestial V (CH) signing off, with warmth and gratitude.
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