Time moved forward, steady and relentless. Three weeks had passed since that first fateful interaction on Twibbler.
In that time, Kana had remained diligent, pouring her heart into her poetry and sharing it daily with her growing audience. Her Twibbler page, once a small corner of the internet with a modest 457 followers, had now nearly doubled to 892. The steady rise in engagement brought her a joy she hadn't felt in years. It was a source of motivation, a beacon of purpose that made the monotony of hospital life bearable.
The dull routines of check-ups, medication schedules, and the sterile walls of her hospital room no longer weighed as heavily on her. Instead, her mind was preoccupied with something entirely new—choosing which poem to post next.
Each morning, rather than dreading the arrival of doctors and nurses, she found herself flipping through the pages of her journal, carefully selecting the right words to share with the world.
For the first time in years, Kana felt like she mattered.
*****
Meanwhile…
John, on the other hand, had been notably absent from Twibbler over the past three weeks. His end-of-term exams had demanded his full attention, leaving him with little time for anything else.
At first, he felt guilty for neglecting his usual routine—checking in on Twibbler, reading Lonelygirl4556's posts, and engaging in the online world that had unexpectedly drawn him in. But he reminded himself that school came first. If he wanted to enjoy his summer break without the looming threat of summer school, he had to focus.
When July 1st finally arrived, the school released the exam results. As soon as John saw his scores on the notice board, he let out a long sigh of relief.
John: (to himself) Finally, all that work paid off.
Though he hadn't aced everything, he had done well enough to avoid summer school, and that was all that mattered.
Later that evening, he walked home with his friends Ivan and Joseph, but instead of heading straight home, they made a detour to the arcade—a long-overdue celebration for surviving the exams.
Joseph: (stretching his arms dramatically) Man, finally! Exams are over.
Ivan: (groaning) I know right? It felt like it was never going to end.
Joseph smirked and elbowed John.
Joseph: But hey, the best part about this? We finally get you back for the summer.
Ivan turned to John, smirking.
Ivan: Yeah, you're finally free. At least for now
John: (chuckles) Don't get used to it. I told Ms. Marie I wanted two days off before going back to work.
Joseph: Who's Ms Marie?
Ivan rolled his eyes.
Ivan: The woman who owns the small supermarket in our neighborhood. Weren't you paying attention the first time John told us?
Joseph: (scratches his head) Must've slipped my mind.
John's gaze suddenly shifted.
John: Hey…where's Rachel?
Ivan: Oh, her? Hanging out with her friends today. But we all agreed to meet up tomorrow.
John: (smiles) That sounds nice.
Ivan caught the way John's face subtly softened at the mention of Rachel and immediately latched onto it.
Ivan: OhOh? What's this? A smile when I mention Rachel? Could it be… you like her?
Joseph: (eyes widening) Huh?!
John: (eyes widening) What?! No! Don't be ridiculous. She's like a little sister to me. We've been friends since we were kids.
Ivan's grin only widened.
Ivan: Ohhh, so you mean you don't like her at all?
John shot him a deadpan look.
John: I already said no, didn't I?
Ivan leaned in with a comically exaggerated expression.
Ivan: (raising an eyebrow playfully) Not even with her big boobs?
John's face turned bright red.
John: What are you—?!
Ivan: (grins) Come on! You have to admit you've at least taken a glance at them!
John: Huh? That's beside the point!!
Ivan: Not even denying it, huh? Hey, what size do you think Rachel's boobs are?
John: How am I supposed to know?!
Ivan: You don't? You're supposed to be her closest friend. You're supposed to notice these things!
John groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
John: It's not like Girls talk about this stuff to guys and why would I pay attention to that detail?! Alright, enough! Knock it off.
Ivan: Oh come on. We were just getting to the…
Before Ivan could continue, Joseph casually smacked him on the back of the head.
A large bump immediately formed on Ivan's head.
John: (sighs in relief) Thanks.
Joseph: No problem.
*****
Kana sat on her hospital bed, flipping through her Twibbler drafts page.
Two new poems stared back at her, both waiting to be shared, yet she couldn't decide which one to post.
Kana: (to herself) I'd have to pick one eventually.
She read and reread them, but indecision gnawed at her. After a few minutes of internal debate, she sighed and decided to leave both in her drafts, promising to pick at random later.
Curious, she checked her Twibbler page. No matter how many times she looked, the sight of her growing engagement always made her smile. Almost every post had received similar—or even greater—interaction than the first one that had unexpectedly boosted her followers three weeks ago.
Her fingers instinctively tapped the messages icon.
No new messages.
She frowned slightly. The only DM she had ever received was from Gamerboy115, and that had been three weeks ago. According to his profile, he hadn't been online since then.
Kana: (to herself) He's just probably busy. I heard various schools were having final term exams right around now. So maybe that's it!!!
She tried to brush it off, but a nagging feeling crept into her mind turning her gloomy all of a sudden.
Kana: (to herself) Why am I even worried? It's not like I expected him to become my number one fan overnight. What if… what if he wasn't even a real person?
The idea was both funny and unsettling. She had once read a story about a girl who started falling for someone online, only to find out he was nothing more than an AI-generated bot.
Shaking her head, she reassured herself.
Kana: (to herself) It's fine. It's not the same thing. It's not the same thing.
****
John arrived home to find a small, crumpled note taped to the fridge, its edges slightly curled from being hastily stuck there. His mother's handwriting was scrawled across the paper in a rushed, uneven script:
"I'm going away for the night. The house is all yours" -love Mom.
John stared at the words, scoffing under his breath.
John: Love? You don't mean that.
He ripped the paper from the fridge, crumpling it into a tight ball before tossing it into the nearby trash can without a second glance. The house was just as he had left it that morning—maybe even worse. Dirty dishes stacked high in the sink, unwashed laundry sprawled across the floor, and empty food containers carelessly left on the coffee table. The air smelled faintly of stale cigarettes and unwashed fabric. It was the same mess, the same suffocating atmosphere he had grown used to.
John: Well, guess it's time to clean up… again.
He started by gathering up all the dirty clothes scattered throughout the house, stuffing them into a laundry basket before hauling them to the washing machine. The pile was embarrassingly large, a mix of his own clothes and his mother's, some of which hadn't seen a wash for a while. He dumped in detergent and set the machine, listening to the hum of water filling the drum as he moved on to his next task.
Next were the dishes. He grimaced as he turned on the faucet, the warm water running over the dried-up food stains on the plates and cups. His mother never washed her own dishes, and she rarely cooked, either. Most of the mess was from takeout containers and instant meals she had barely bothered to finish. He scrubbed everything thoroughly, drying and stacking the plates neatly once they were clean.
Then came the floors. He grabbed a broom and swept every corner of the house, dragging the dust and crumbs into a pile before disposing of them. His muscles ached as he mopped the floors afterward, the scent of cleaning detergent mixing with the stale air of the house. By the time he finished, his shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat.
Three hours had passed.
He retrieved the freshly washed clothes from the machine, carrying the heavy bundle to the back corridor where he spread them out on the drying line. The night breeze rustled the fabric, and for a brief moment, John felt a sense of relief.
John: At least the wind can do some of the work for me.
He stood there for a second, staring up at the sky. It was a clear night, stars twinkling above—a sight he rarely appreciated. He let out a deep breath, then turned to head back inside.
The house looked better now, cleaner at least, but it still didn't feel like home. No matter how much effort he put into tidying up, it never felt like his space. It was just a place where he slept, ate, and cleaned up after his mother, who barely acted like a parent anymore.
He dragged himself to the bathroom, stripping off his sweat-soaked clothes before stepping into the shower. The cold water hit his skin, washing away the grime and exhaustion of the evening, but it couldn't wash away his frustration.
Cleaning up after her was exhausting—not just physically, but mentally. It was a constant reminder of how little she cared, how absent she was, how much he had to handle on his own.
Would she ever change?
He used to hope she would. But the older he got, the more he realized that some things—some people—never did.
John closed his eyes, letting the water run down his face.
John: I need to get out of this house.
*****
AtAt around 8 PM, Kana had just finished her dinner and taken her nightly medication. She sat on her bed, staring at the dim glow of her phone screen, her fingers idly scrolling through her Twibbler drafts.
She had written so many poems over the past few weeks—some hopeful, some melancholic, some filled with unspoken pain. Yet, despite having so many options, she still couldn't decide which one to post.
Kana: Should I go with something deep? Or maybe something lighthearted?
Frustrated with her indecision, she closed her eyes and let her finger hover over the screen.
Kana: oh well. I guess I'll just pick at random.
With a small press of her fingertip, one of the drafts was selected and immediately posted to her page. When she opened her eyes to see which one she had chosen, she let out a small chuckle.
Kana: Huh. This wasn't so bad.
She reread the post, nodding to herself.
Kana: I should have just picked this one from the start instead of guessing randomly.
*****
Meanwhile, John sat in the living room, lazily sprawled on the floor with his back against the couch. The hum of the air conditioner filled the space with a soothing white noise, cooling the room after a long, exhausting day.
He had just finished his dinner and was absentmindedly scrolling through his phone when his screen lit up with a new message.
Rachel.
Popstargirl:
[So are you going to come to our hangout tomorrow?]
John smirked, already knowing that Ivan and Joseph had probably been plotting something. Without hesitation, he typed back.
Gamerboy115:
[Yeah, Ivan & Joseph said they'd find my house and drag me out if they had to, just to make sure that I tagged along.]
Rachel's reply came almost instantly.
Popstargirl:
[Lol. I bet it was Ivan's idea.]
Gamerboy115:
[You bet it was. 😂😂]
John chuckled as he remembered Ivan's ridiculous antics. That guy always knew how to keep things lively—sometimes too lively. His mind briefly wandered to a moment from earlier that day when Ivan had made an offhand joke about Rachel's chest size.
John shook his head, brushing the thought away.
Meanwhile, Rachel sat on her bed, absentmindedly twirling a strand of her hair as she stared at their chat. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she finally started typing her next message.
Popstargirl:
[So… you wanna talk about what made you look so sad the other time? And what happened to make you look happy afterward?]
She hesitated for a second before hitting send.
[You promised you'd talk when you were ready. Is now a good time?]
On the other end, John froze.
There it was again. That conversation.
The one Rachel wouldn't let go of.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as frustration bubbled up inside him. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate her concern—he knew she meant well. But talking about it wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't make things better. It wouldn't undo what had already happened.
For a brief moment, he considered telling her something—anything—just to ease her worry. But no. That would only invite more questions, more concern. He didn't need that right now.
So instead, he typed the safest response he could think of.
Gameboy115:
[It's fine. There's no need to talk about it anymore. I've already gotten over it. I just needed to stop thinking about it, that's all.]
He sent the message and waited.
Rachel read it, her heart sinking.
"Again."
She had been so sure that this time, this time, John would finally open up to her. But just like before, he dodged it—brushed it off like it was nothing.
Disappointment weighed on her as she typed back.
Popstargirl:
[Oh…okay, sure. No problem. I have to go to bed now. See you tomorrow.]
Gamerboy115:
[See you tomorrow.]
Rachel set her phone down on the drawer next to her bed and flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling.
Rachel: Why?
She let out a frustrated sigh before kicking the air, her mind racing.
Rachel: Why won't you tell me anything, John?
She didn't want to force him, but at the same time, it hurt to know that he didn't trust her enough to share whatever was weighing him down.
*****
John sighed, relieved that he had successfully dodged the conversation once again.
John: I just hope she doesn't bring it up again.
Leaning back against the couch, he turned his attention back to his phone, scrolling through Twibbler in search of something—anything—to distract himself.
And then, he found it.
A new post from Lonelygirl4556.
His eyes lingered on the username for a moment before clicking on the post.