Chapter 1 The Beginning
The beginning
Khalee
I look at the phone, waiting. And before long, the message appears on the screen.
Me: Hey, you. I was thinking…
Me: Would you like to hang out?
Me: Like… I don’t know. Maybe we could meet and see each other?
Me: It’s totally okay if it’s not what you want. I was just thinking that, maybe, it could be nice, you know?
Me: I’m gonna be at the Stormhaven Gardens this afternoon. Let me know if it works for you.
K: I’ll be there. xx
I read it.
And then I reread it.
It’s really happening.
Despite everything I’ve believed, it’s actually going to happen.
When I started learning with Ms. Joana, she asked me a lot to check my fate. I refused a lot of times. I’m learning with her how to become a fortune teller and an astrologer in my spare time, but when it comes to my own life, I’m skeptical.
Make it make sense, right?
It’s not that I don’t believe in the esoteric arts; I do, or I wouldn’t have spent so many years working with them.
I’ve seen more than enough proof of the things I predict coming true for others.
But for my own choices, my life? Not only can I see nothing, but I’m also doubtful when anyone tells me otherwise.
One year ago, I started learning under Ms. Joana.
She’s a local legend in Stormhaven, a master of tarot and astrology.
People flock to her for guidance, and she always seems to know exactly what to say.
She’s been teaching me the deeper intricacies of the cards, how to connect with intuition and energy.
She’s patient, but also has a sharp wit that cuts through my doubts.
“It’s time for you to let the cards guide you,” she said one evening after a lesson. Her tired eyes, framed by round, brown glasses, locked onto mine. “Let me read it for you.”
I hesitated.
It felt strange, exposing my vulnerabilities like that. But something about her gaze was reassuring.
“Alright,” I agreed after so many “no’s,” sitting down across from her.
She shuffled the deck with practiced ease, laying out the cards in a spread that felt both random and deliberate: the Tower, the Fool, and the Lovers.
“Change is coming,” she said, her voice calm. “A leap of faith. A connection you’ve been waiting for, but it requires courage.”
Yeah.
It was true.
I longed for connection. I longed for love.
After all, I’m a Cancer, and I really wished to live a love so consuming that I wasn’t even able to see right.
However, I didn’t fully understand what she meant until she pointed to the glass jar on her desk.
It was filled with tiny scraps of paper, each one bearing a phone number.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Numbers of people searching for love,” she explained with a small smile. “I let my clients take one if they’re willing to take a chance. I think it’s your time.”
“I’m not a client.”
“No, you’re not. You’re my sweet girl. But that doesn’t keep you away from fate itself.”
I laughed. The idea seemed absurd. “That’s your advice? Pick a number and hope for the best?”
“Sometimes, love needs a little push,” she said, sliding the jar toward me. “I’m the push. And you need to take a chance.”
“I’m not ready for love,” I said, and I knew I was lying, as much as she knew.
“You were born ready to love. You don’t mention it because you don’t feel like it’s the right time. However, you’re a silent soul. You’ll never scream your needs or let the others know what goes deep inside that hopeful heart of yours. Good thing you don’t need to do it with me.”
In a moment of impulsiveness, I reached in and pulled out a slip of paper. I wasn’t expecting anything. But when I texted the number, a reply came almost immediately.
That’s how it all started.
It’s been a year now since I pulled that piece of paper.
A whole year of texts and phone calls with K, as he calls himself, and how I also call myself.
At first, it was sporadic, quick exchanges, jokes, and small talk.
But it didn’t take long for those conversations to deepen.
Somewhere along the way, he became a constant in my life, as much as I am for him.
I don’t know where he’s from, what he does, or even what he looks like.
We made a pact early on to keep things anonymous, to let our connection grow without the weight of appearances or labels.
All I know is that he’s 21, three years older than me. I know we like the same music, that he loves sunsets but hates early mornings, that he’s a Virgo, which makes so much sense with his meticulous nature, and that he’s been to Miss Joana too (although in his case, it was on a bet).
I know his voice, the way its timbre doesn’t just warm my ears but seems to envelop my whole body because we talk for hours on the phone. And because of that, I also know he’s a good listener. Better than anyone I’ve ever met.
With him, it’s easy to be open, to unravel thoughts I didn’t even know I had.
Despite the ambiguity of it all, our conversations have been deep, focusing less on material problems and more on our feelings and how we process them.
He’s been my confidant, my safe space, my best friend in ways I didn’t know I needed.
But the best part of those calls, the part I secretly look forward to the most, is when he plays the guitar for me.
It started as a surprise, something he did on a whim during one of our late-night conversations.
I remember how shy his voice sounded when he asked, “Do you mind if I play something? Just something small?”
Of course, I didn’t mind.
And the moment the first chords filled the silence, I was lost.
His playing is raw, honest, and heartbreakingly beautiful. It’s not polished or showy, he’s no rockstar, but there’s something in the way he strums the strings that feels like he’s speaking a language only my soul understands.
When he plays, I feel myself unraveling.
The tension I carry in my chest loosens, the world quiets, and for a while, it’s just us and the music.
Sometimes, I close my eyes and let the melody wash over me, each note like a soft caress. Other times, I lie back, clutching the phone tightly to my ear, and wonder if he knows how much his songs mean to me.
He plays everything from slow, soulful ballads to quirky little tunes he makes up on the spot. And every time, it feels like he’s creating something just for me, a private moment that belongs to no one else.
More than once, I’ve fallen asleep to the sound of his guitar, his voice humming softly in the background. Those nights are my favorite, the ones where I drift off feeling safe, as if his music has wrapped me in an invisible embrace.
And then there’s the way he calls me “love.”
It’s always “love,” like some British pirate plucked out of a storybook. The first time he said it, I laughed, thinking it was a joke.
But he never stopped.
It’s “goodnight, love,” or “how’s your day been, love?”
And every time, the word wraps around me, igniting a quiet burn that I try to ignore. Once, I worked up the courage to ask him why he called me that.
“You feel like love is supposed to feel,” he said without hesitation. “Patient, kind, understanding, and… steady, like it’s always been there.”
His words left me speechless, my heart pounding in a way that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.
How could someone who’s never seen me, who doesn’t even know my real name, say something so profound? And the scariest part is, I think he means it.
He says it so effortlessly, like it’s a truth he’s always known.
The secrecy about our identities was never intentional.
At first, I was just trying to protect myself; after all, talking to a stranger is inherently strange.
But then, we just kept it, and now, he doesn’t feel like a stranger anymore.
He feels like someone who knows me better than my own family.
It’s absurd, isn’t it? To feel so deeply connected to someone you’ve never met?
And yet, I can’t deny it. I feel like I know him… even without knowing him.
And that’s the part that scares me the most.
I think I’m falling for him.
I’ve tried to push the thought away, to tell myself it’s just the oddity of our situation and the depth in our conversations, the allure of mystery.
But the bond I feel with him is undeniable.
It’s in the way he listens, the way he remembers the little things I say, the way he plays his guitar like he’s pouring out his soul for me to hear. It’s in the way he calls me “love” and never goes to sleep without talking to me. It’s in every moment we share, even in the distance.
I don’t know if he feels the same.
We’ve never talked about it, never crossed that line. Maybe he sees me as just a friend, someone to share his thoughts with late at night. But I can’t ignore the hope that flickers in my chest every time we talk. And that hope terrifies me as much as it excites me.
That’s why, after months of overthinking, I decided to take another chance.
I invited him to meet me in Stormhaven, and… he accepted.
“It’s a date,” he replied.
Simple. Clear. Straightforward. As if he wasn’t nervous at all.
But me? I’m a mess.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror for the hundredth time, fussing with my hair, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles on my dress. My stomach twists in knots, a storm of excitement and anxiety swirling inside me. What if he doesn’t like me? What if he regrets agreeing to meet?
Or worse, what if I regret it?
The thoughts make my heart race, but I shake them off.
This is K.
The person who’s been my anchor for the past year.
I know him, don’t I?
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. Ms. Joana’s words echo in my mind:
“The love you’ve been waiting for is near.”
I believe in fate, and tonight, I’m willing to let it take the wheel.