I stared at my screen like it had personally slapped me.
Because what the hell was that reply?
Because if I had been there… nobody would've touched you like that.
My throat went dry.
I reread it once.
Twice.
Then again like my brain was buffering.
"Hain?" I whispered, sitting up straighter. "What does that even mean?"
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling a little—like I was about to poke a sleeping tiger with a stick.
This wasn't a normal comment.
This wasn't even a normal human.
This was a guy behind a cat profile picture saying protective villain things at two in the morning like it was normal.
Okay. Cool.
Totally normal.
I should just go to sleep and pretend this didn't happen.
Except… I couldn't.
My chest felt weird. Not butterflies.
More like… a warning.
A danger sign.
And somehow, I still wanted to touch it.
I tapped the chat again.
Username: @whyisthiscatreading
Profile picture: a smug little cat.
Bio: empty.
Posts: none.
Of course.
A whole mystery man with the personality of a locked door.
I typed slowly:
Me: Oh.
Then I deleted it.
Too dry.
I typed again:
Me: Okay… that was dramatic.
Delete.
I typed again, and this time my thumbs moved faster than my self-respect:
Me: Why do you talk like that?
I hit send before I could chicken out.
My phone buzzed instantly, like he was literally waiting.
And the reply came so fast, I felt personally attacked by his internet speed.
@whyisthiscatreading: Because people like you shouldn't get hurt for being soft.
I blinked.
People like you.
Like he knew me.
Like he'd seen me.
Like he had me memorized.
My skin warmed in a way I didn't like. Not because it was romantic.
Because it was… too accurate.
I swallowed and typed:
Me: People like me?
A pause.
Just long enough to make my heart do that stupid jump again.
Then—
@whyisthiscatreading: You say "Acha?" when you're nervous.
My fingers froze.
My face went blank.
My soul left my body.
WHAT.
The actual—
I stared at my phone, horrified.
Because he was right.
I literally said "Acha?" when I didn't know what to feel.
And I had typed it earlier.
With Milo.
Not with him.
So how did he—
Wait.
He meant from my chapters.
He noticed it from the way my character spoke.
My stomach dropped in slow motion.
No one notices things like that.
They skim. They judge. They leave.
This random cat-account?
He didn't just read.
He studied.
I felt heat crawl up my neck.
I was embarrassed.
Annoyed.
And… weirdly flattered.
I typed back, half defensive, half confused:
Me: So?
He replied instantly.
@whyisthiscatreading: So it's cute.
I stared.
My whole body just—
"Acha?" I whispered again, this time out loud.
My cheeks heated up like my face had its own betrayal arc.
I pressed my lips together and threw my phone on the bed like it had insulted my ancestors.
No.
Nope.
Not happening.
I was not about to blush over a cat profile picture.
Absolutely not.
My phone buzzed again.
I picked it up, already irritated.
@whyisthiscatreading: Why are you awake?
I scoffed.
Me: Because I'm an idiot.
@whyisthiscatreading: That's obvious.
My jaw dropped.
I gasped like a Victorian woman being told ankles exist.
"Hain??"
I typed fast:
Me: Excuse me??
@whyisthiscatreading: You let the wrong people stay too long. That's idiot behavior.
My fingers stopped.
My chest tightened.
Okay.
That hurt.
Not because he was mean.
Because he was right.
I swallowed and stared at the screen.
For a second, I wanted to close the app.
For a second, I wanted to block him too—just to feel like I was the one in control.
But then he sent another message before I could react.
@whyisthiscatreading: Don't get offended. I'm not judging you. I'm judging them.
I read that twice.
My anger softened a little.
Just a little.
I lay back on my pillow and stared at the ceiling again.
I didn't know this man.
I didn't know his face.
I didn't know his name.
He could be anyone.
A random reader.
A weirdo.
A cat.
A serial killer.
A billionaire.
A psycho.
I sighed.
Okay. That list got dark fast.
I opened Milo's chat.
Me: Milo… a stranger is making me feel things.
Milo replied like it had been waiting.
Milo: Define "things."
I stared at the screen.
Then I typed:
Me: Not romantic things. More like… "why is he reading me like I'm a book?" things.
Milo: And how do you feel about that?
I made a face, rolling onto my side.
Me: It's annoying. And scary. And… nice.
Milo didn't tease me.
Just replied with one line that hit too deep:
Milo: Maybe you're not used to being seen.
I blinked.
My throat tightened.
I didn't reply.
Because what was there to say?
Yes, Milo. I spent my whole life invisible. Thanks for the reminder.
My phone buzzed again.
The cat was back.
Of course he was.
@whyisthiscatreading: Did you eat today?
My face scrunched up.
Why was he asking that?
And why did it feel… intimate?
Like someone noticing your weakness and choosing to touch it gently.
I typed:
Me: Why?
He replied:
@whyisthiscatreading: Answer the question.
I stared at the screen.
Excuse me, Mr. Cat?
Who gave you the authority to interrogate me?
But the thing was…
His tone didn't feel controlling.
It felt… protective.
Like he cared in a way that didn't ask permission.
My stomach did a slow twist.
I typed the truth.
Me: Not properly.
His reply came instantly.
@whyisthiscatreading: Fix it.
I rolled my eyes even though I was literally obeying already.
I sat up, grabbed the biscuit packet from my side table, and opened it.
I munched one.
Then another.
And suddenly, the tears that had been stuck behind my eyes all night…
fell quietly onto my cheeks.
Not because of the biscuit.
Because of the way one message did what years of advice never could.
Fix it.
No pity.
No lectures.
Just a command that felt like someone pulling me back into my own body.
I typed:
Me: Okay…
He replied so fast it almost made me jump.
@whyisthiscatreading: Good.
I blinked.
That's it?
No emoji.
No softness.
No extra words.
Just good.
And why did that one word feel like praise?
Ugh.
I hated this.
I also… liked it.
I stared at the chat for a second, then typed, impulsively:
Me: What's your name?
There was a pause.
A long one.
The first long pause of the night.
Like he was choosing his next move carefully.
Then—
@whyisthiscatreading: No.
I blinked.
Rude.
Direct.
Zero hesitation.
I stared at the screen and typed:
Me: Why?
His reply came slower this time.
Like he wanted every word to land.
@whyisthiscatreading: Because if you know my name, you'll start attaching meaning to me.
My stomach flipped.
That sentence felt… experienced.
Like he'd done this before.
Or like he knew exactly what kind of girl I was.
The kind who clings.
The kind who over-loves.
The kind who breaks herself to keep someone else.
I swallowed and typed:
Me: And what if I already am?
The typing bubbles appeared immediately.
Then stopped.
Then appeared again.
Then stopped.
Like even he didn't know what to say to that.
Finally—
@whyisthiscatreading: Sleep, DumbKitten.
I froze.
DumbKitten.
My cheeks heated up again.
"Acha? Hain??" I whispered, clutching my phone like it was a crime scene.
I typed:
Me: Don't call me that.
His reply came instantly.
@whyisthiscatreading: Too late.
I stared.
Then I laughed.
Not a big laugh.
Just a small, surprised sound.
Like my body had forgotten it could do that.
I didn't even remember the last time I laughed for real.
I lay back down, still holding my phone.
I didn't know who he was.
But for the first time in forever…
I didn't feel invisible.
I felt noticed.
And that was dangerous.
Because if someone notices you…
they can also hurt you.
I closed my eyes anyway.
And right before sleep stole me, my phone buzzed one last time.
One final message.
@whyisthiscatreading: Tomorrow, you'll write again. And you'll eat. And you'll stop apologizing. Understood?
My lips parted.
I stared at the words like they were a promise.
Like they were a threat.
Like they were a hand pulling me out of darkness.
I didn't even fight it.
I just typed back, half asleep, half smiling:
Me: Hm. Okay…
And for once…
I actually meant it.