The letter had no stamp, no return address. Just her name—Koyi—written in a smooth, cursive scrawl that didn't look like anyone she knew.
Koyi held the envelope between her fingers, her brow creasing as she tilted her head. It had been slid under her bedroom door while she was in the shower. She hadn't heard a thing. Her aunt was still out, and no one else should've been in the house.
The envelope was oddly warm, like someone had been holding it moments ago.
Curiosity prickled her spine.
She tore it open and unfolded the single sheet of paper inside.
The handwriting was the same elegant script.
> Dear Koyi,
By the time you read this, I hope you've started trusting your instincts. You will doubt yourself. You'll wonder if this letter is real—or some cruel joke. But I swear, it's real.
One year from now, your world will change. Someone close to you will betray your heart, and you'll need to make a choice: forget everything, or remember who you really are.
Don't trust the boy with the freckle under his left eye.
Don't eat the strawberries on the 14th of March.
And whatever you do, don't throw this letter away.
We're running out of time, Koyi. I'm trying to stop it from happening again.
With love from tomorrow,
Me.
Her hands trembled as she lowered the paper.
The room suddenly felt too still. The hum of her small fan seemed distant, like she'd stepped into another realm entirely. She looked around her bedroom—the fading yellow walls, her posters, the sketchpad on her desk—and felt like a stranger had just walked into her life wearing invisible boots.
"What the hell…?" she whispered.
Who wrote this?
How do they know about March 14th? That's my birthday…
And "me"? What did that even mean? Herself? Was this a prank?
She turned the paper over. No watermark. No symbol.
Then she looked closer. In the bottom right corner, almost faded into the paper, was a strange mark—a swirl made of two arrows chasing each other in a circle. It shimmered faintly, like the ink was alive.
Suddenly, someone knocked on her door.
She jumped and shoved the letter under her pillow.
"Koyi! You okay?" came Asha's voice—her best friend, visiting for the weekend. "You've been in there forever."
Koyi cleared her throat and opened the door, forcing a smile. "Yeah. Just... sorting my hair. You know this mess."
Asha narrowed her eyes. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Koyi shrugged. "Maybe I did."
She laughed, but it sounded hollow even to her.
They walked to the small kitchen where Asha poured cereal for both of them. Koyi sat at the table, still distracted. The words from the letter circled her thoughts like vultures. Betrayal. A boy with a freckle. Strawberries.
"You're spacing out," Asha said, crunching loudly. "Is it about that dream again?"
Koyi blinked. "Huh?"
"You've been weird lately. Last night you woke up muttering something. 'Not again,' I think. You okay?"
Koyi forced another smile. "Just tired, Ash. Maybe school stress."
"Hmm. Maybe," Asha muttered, then flicked milk at her. "You better not be possessed or some fantasy nonsense. I'm not fighting demons for you."
Koyi chuckled, but her fingers drummed nervously under the table.
Later that day, when Asha was distracted on a video call, Koyi tiptoed back into her room and pulled the letter out again. She read it for the fifth time. The words didn't change.
But something was different now.
The ink.
The shimmer was gone.
She squinted, rubbed her eyes.
Then the paper dissolved—just like that. One second it was in her hands, the next, it fluttered into ash-like dust, crumbling and vanishing before it hit the floor.
"No. No no no—" she whispered.
She scrambled around, checking under the bed, the desk. Nothing. It was as if the letter had never existed.
Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
She wasn't losing her mind. She couldn't be.
She sat down, clutching her knees. Something wasn't right.
That evening, a soft knock came again—on her window this time.
She turned sharply.
Outside stood a boy in a gray hoodie. She couldn't see his face clearly through the mosquito screen, but as he shifted, a faint light caught the side of his cheek.
Her eyes widened.
A freckle.
Under his left eye.
Her breath caught in her throat.
He waved awkwardly, smiled like they were already friends. Then he tapped the window twice and walked off into the dusk.
Koyi didn't move. Her fingers were ice. Her lungs refused to breathe.
Don't trust the boy with the freckle under his left eye.
He was real.
The letter was real.
And whatever was coming for her… had already started.