The Reckless Collision

Sam.

~~~

Birthdays were supposed to be joyful, right? That's what everyone say, anyway. From the moment someone enters the world, people mark the occasion with cake, candles, and cheer every year. December tenth, 1996, was no exception—or so I had always thought.

But as I stared at the grainy photograph of Melissa on Molly's phone, that certainty started to unravel. Melissa had died the same day I was born.

"Hey!" Molly's voice cut through my thoughts, her fingers snapping in front of my face like she was swatting an invisible fly.

I ignored her. My focus stayed locked on the photograph. The resemblance was... uncanny. Molly hadn't been exaggerating.

The more I studied Melissa's face, the more similarities I saw. Her messy half-up, half-down hairstyle obscured some details, but even in the low-quality image, I could make out the small freckle-like birthmark on her cheek—the same one I had in the exact same spot. Our nose shapes were identical too, sharp yet soft, with a subtle curve at the bridge.

"Sam, we need to go," Molly said again, snapping her fingers closer this time. "Don't tell me you're buying into that reincarnation nonsense."

"No," I muttered, my eyes lingering on the photo. I caught the title of the article below but didn't bother reading it. "It's just... weird. I've never seen her photo before. My parents never even mentioned her. And she died on my birthday."

"You've stared enough," Molly said, snatching the phone from my hands. "We still need to talk about your book."

"Hey, I wasn't finished!" I protested, reaching for her phone.

"You weren't even reading the article."

I faltered, caught. "I was... just looking at the photo."

"Exactly. What were you doing the whole time I was in the bathroom?" Molly raised a knowing eyebrow. She didn't need my answer; she already knew.

"Fine," I admitted hesitantly, standing up from my chair. "What about my book?"

Molly didn't reply right away, leading the way out of the cafe. The city sounds hit me like a tidal wave as we stepped onto the bustling street. Honking cars, snippets of passing conversations, the distant wail of a siren—it all collided with the whirlwind of emotions churning inside me.

I followed Molly in a daze, struggling to keep up as her voice became a blur against the noise. My legs felt heavy like they were made of wood, and my steps dragged beneath me.

"Are you okay?" Molly asked, pausing in front of a shop door.

It took me a moment to catch up, and when I did, I was slightly out of breath. My cheeks flushed, either from the autumn heat or sheer exhaustion.

"You walk too fast," I said, exhaling heavily. "I couldn't hear a word you were saying."

Molly tilted her head, concern flickering across her face. "You asked about your book," she reminded me, pushing open the glass door. "Well, there's a book online that starts with your name, and since you haven't shared your manuscript with me, I'm guessing someone's using your name to get attention."

I blinked, trying to process her words as we stepped inside. The shop was bright and calm, a soothing contrast to the chaos outside. Soft music played in the background, and only a few other customers wandered the aisles.

"Did you read it?" I asked, my voice shaky.

"Some of it," Molly admitted as we walked toward the back of the store. Rows of stockings, socks, and tights filled the walls, and mannequins stood like silent sentinels displaying the latest trends. "I just wanted to see why people thought it was yours."