Chapter 3
I didn't reply to the message.
I read it once. Locked my phone. Unlocked it again and reread it, slower this time, like the meaning might rearrange itself if I gave it another chance.
Did you notice what you did differently today?
No greeting. No explanation. Just a question that assumed I had.
I told myself it was nothing serious. Someone role-playing. Someone who'd read the novel and thought it would be funny to blur the line a little. The internet was full of people like that.
That explanation almost worked.
I opened the novel again.
There was no new chapter yet. Just the author's note, still sitting there above the comments. I reread it and tried to imagine it being written casually, without intention.
It didn't feel casual.
It felt like something you wrote after watching someone for a while.
I closed the app and placed my phone on the desk. This time I didn't turn it face-down. I wanted to see the screen light up if another message came in. I didn't know why that felt better, but it did.
The rest of the day passed normally—too normally. I went through my routine, but I was aware of it in a way I usually wasn't. I noticed how often I hesitated before doing simple things. How much of my day ran on habits I never questioned.
I kept thinking: If the story is really following me, then I should be able to throw it off.
So I made a small change.
Nothing dramatic. Nothing brave.
There was a place I always stopped on the way home. I'd done it for so long it barely registered anymore. That day, I walked past it. Didn't slow down. Didn't look back.
I waited for something to happen.
Nothing did.
The world didn't react. My chest didn't tighten. No sense of something snapping into place.
I almost laughed at myself.
That night, I checked the novel again.
A new chapter had gone up.
Second Life: Minor Deviations
I stared at the title longer than I meant to.
I didn't open it right away. I scrolled through the comments instead, the way I always did when I wanted to delay something. People were excited. Praising the pacing. Talking about how grounded the story felt.
I tapped the chapter.
The main character went through his day. Same thoughts. Same careful awareness. Same attempt to act normal while feeling slightly off.
Then he reached the choice.
The narration slowed down. The character hesitated, thinking about how strange it felt to stop doing something he'd done without thinking for years.
He walked past it.
I closed the app too fast. My thumb slipped, and for a second I thought I'd dropped my phone.
"That's obvious," I muttered to the empty room. "Anyone would write that."
It was the most predictable change. The easiest test. Of course the author would include it.
I unlocked the phone again.
The chapter continued.
The character felt relief—not excitement, not pride. Just relief. Like he'd avoided something unpleasant without ever knowing what it was.
That part made my stomach turn.
Because that was exactly how it had felt.
I stopped reading near the end.
Instead, I opened my messages.
The account was still there.
No new texts. No typing bubble. Just the same blank profile, waiting.
I hovered over the keyboard longer than I should have. I didn't know what to ask without sounding ridiculous. I didn't know how to phrase fear without admitting it.
So I typed the safest thing I could.
Who are you?
The reply came almost immediately.
Someone who's already read ahead.
I stared at the screen, pulse picking up again.
Another message followed.
Don't worry. You're doing fine so far.
That didn't calm me.
That sounded like something you said to someone being tested.
I put the phone down and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. The crack was still there. The room still looked the same. Everything felt frustratingly ordinary.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just enough that I couldn't pretend this was coincidence anymore.
This wasn't about predicting what I would do.
It was about nudging me.
Correcting me.
And whatever was writing the story wasn't waiting for me to catch up—
it was waiting to see what I'd try next.