The Encounter
Not another lover, not a stranger—
I met me.
Just after midnight.
The power flickered.
The city outside swallowed by darkness.
Only the hum of my laptop.
Only the sound of my own breath in the hush.
I was writing in this very diary—wondering if anyone would read, if anyone would ever really know me—
And then, the screen flashed.
Suddenly,
there she was.
Meeting Myself
Another Elena.
Same eyes. Same scar on the knee. Same hunger in her chest.
But—her hair was shorter, her smile bolder, her skin sun-kissed and wild.
She looked at me the way I sometimes wish someone would—like she could see every secret, every shame, every spark I try to hide.
She spoke first.
“Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if you’d said yes, instead of no?”
She didn’t wait for my answer.
She just sat beside me, so close our knees touched, and whispered all the things I’d never dared to say out loud.
Her voice, soft and teasing.
The Braver Version
She told me about lovers I never met, adventures I never took,
the version of myself who always took the risk, who always asked for what she wanted.
I listened, flushed and breathless, wishing I could be as brave as she was.
She reached out, took my hand in hers.
Her fingers felt like mine—warmer, more certain.
“I think about you all the time,” she said.
“I watch you hesitate, hold back, dream in secret.
But I want you to know—you are allowed to want.
You are allowed to ache.
You are allowed to be the wildest version of yourself, even if no one else ever sees.”
The Kiss and the Return
She leaned in, brushed her lips against my cheek—so soft I almost thought I imagined it.
But I could smell her—me—salt and sun and sweat and fear.
And then, the power snapped back.
The screen flickered.
I was alone again—knees trembling, skin tingling, heart pounding with a strange, impossible hope.
The Promise
I keep thinking about her now.
The version of me who never apologized for wanting, who loved with her whole body, who wrote confessions without shame.
Tonight, I promise to write like she’s watching.
To live like she’d dare me to.
And maybe, just maybe, next time the lights go out…
I’ll be ready to say yes.
Goodnight,
—Elena