It started as a freak accident—a glitch in the matrix, or maybe just a really weird app update. Somehow, I was FaceTiming with myself from ten years in the future. Excitement bubbling over, I asked the big question: "So, who do we end up with?" Future Me went silent for a beat. Then, he dropped the name of my mortal enemy. I burst out laughing. "Man, I didn't know I’d still be this sarcastic in my late twenties. Good one." But before the laugh could fade, a figure walked into the frame on his end. "Babe, who are you talking to?" I stared at the screen. The woman was older, more glamorous, but unmistakable. It was my high school nemesis. I froze, effectively turning into a statue. 1. The visual was surreal. I was locking eyes with Chloe. The Chloe. She was wearing silk pajamas, leaning casually against Future Me’s shoulder. After about sixty seconds of brain-dead silence, I let out a screech that probably shattered windows. Chloe raised an eyebrow, looking amused by my existence. Then, just to mess with me, she kissed Future Me on the cheek and shot the camera a smug, challenging look. My world was ending. Seeing my mental breakdown, Future Me jumped in for damage control. He started rattling off a list of Chloe’s "good qualities" to explain how on earth we got married. It was horrifying. It was like watching a body snatcher inhabit my future self. After a few minutes of him praising her, I couldn't take it anymore. "You are a disappointment," I snapped. "You know how much I can’t stand her. I literally just graduated high school, celebrating my freedom from her existence, and you’re telling me I marry her in a decade? That’s not a future; that’s a diagnosis." Maybe he’d been happy for so long he forgot the trenches. Future Me looked genuinely confused until my outburst reminded him that currently, Chloe and I were like oil and water. If we were in the same room, eyes were rolling. He scratched his head, looking awkward. Chloe, standing next to him, smirked. "Hate to break it to you," she drawled, "but we go to the same college in the fall." She looked so triumphant. It took everything in me not to punch my monitor. Ten years later, and she was still the same—one expression from her could send my blood pressure through the roof. I glared. She beamed. Seeing my will to live fading, Future Me shoved Chloe out of the frame and leaned in, lowering his voice. "Look, we do end up together, but you have other flings before that." "Like who?" I perked up. He thought for a second. "Remember that cheerleader captain who helped you with registration? The blonde? You guys date for a bit. It’s great." We started excitedly discussing my upcoming love life, completely forgetting the woman standing behind him. You know, his wife. It wasn't until I saw Chloe’s face—a mix of amusement and icy rage—that I realized we messed up. "Uh..." I whispered to Future Me. "You might want to check your six." He turned around, confused, and met the gaze of a very unamused wife. His smile died instantly. Panic set in. "Actually," he stammered, pivoting hard, "she was totally mid. And she ghosted me. Really, she couldn't compare to you, honey." Watching myself lie was painful. I realized now that my poker face was trash. Chloe scoffed. She snatched the phone from his hand. "We're done chatting. Future You and I need to have a little talk." She hung up. But right before the screen went black, I saw her sit on his lap. I stared at the reflection in my dark screen, my brain short-circuiting with intrusive thoughts. I was going insane. 2. Thanks to Future Me, I didn't sleep a wink. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Chloe. The worst part? We had a post-grad hang at a Karaoke spot the next day. And obviously, Chloe was going to be there. I psyched myself up and walked into the private room. The sound of off-key singing blasted out. When I opened the door, the music cut. Everyone turned to look at me. Then, in perfect synchronization, they turned to look at Chloe. Because our rivalry was legendary, we were basically a package deal in everyone’s minds. The room was split between people waiting for a fight, people holding back laughter, and the weirdos who secretly "shipped" us. Usually, I ignored it. I hated Chloe. It was simple. Until last night, when I found out my nemesis becomes my wife. The couches were packed. The only empty spot was—you guessed it—right next to Chloe. I sighed, accepted my fate, and sat down. Chloe glanced at me. She noticed the dark circles under my eyes and frowned slightly before masking it with a tease. "Rough night? Or were you just tossing and turning dreaming about me?" Normally, I’d tell her to get over herself. Unfortunately, she was technically right. I looked away, feeling heat rise in my cheeks. "You're delusional," I muttered, grabbing a Coke to cool down. Chloe paused, dropping the sarcasm. She stared at me, realizing something was off. I avoided eye contact like it was a sport. The others didn't notice the weird vibe and dragged Chloe up to sing. The moment she stood up, I exhaled. But my peace lasted two seconds. My phone buzzed. Future Me: Calculated the time zones. You’re at Karaoke right now, yeah? Future Me: Fun fact: The song she’s about to sing? It’s for you. My heart started hammering against my ribs. The phone felt radioactive in my hand. I looked up instinctively and locked eyes with Chloe. On the screen, the title popped up. “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. The room erupted in whistles and cheers. Chloe kept looking at me as the intro played. 3. I hate to admit it, but Chloe can sing. The room faded away. Maybe it was the text messages messing with my head, but I swear I could feel the weight of her gaze. In the dim light, there was something in her eyes I’d never let myself see before. When she finished, everyone clapped. Some brave soul asked if she was singing it for anyone specific. She didn't deny it. She didn't confirm it. She just smiled. She sat back down next to me, looking jittery. Her hands were clenched in her lap. My phone buzzed again. Future Me: She thinks singing that will make you realize she has a crush on you. Spoiler: You didn't get it. You sat there like a lump. Future Me: She tried to work up the nerve to ask you if you liked the song all night but chickened out. Future Me: Look at her hands. She’s literally shaking. I glanced sideways. Sure enough, her hands were trembling. The corner of my mouth twitched up. I leaned in close, whispering with a teasing lilt, "Chloe, why are you shaking?" Her head snapped toward me. She scooted away reflexively. But when she saw the mischief in my eyes, she realized I was messing with her. A flash of disappointment crossed her face before she put her armor back on. "What are you looking at? It's cold in here," she snapped. "I'm freezing." She was so defensive. Usually, I’d be mentally roasting her, but right now? It was kind of cute. I noticed the tips of her ears were bright red. I felt like I had discovered a new continent. I finally had the upper hand. I grinned at her. " careful, Chloe. People might think you have a crush on me." I watched her face crumble. Her eyes went wide, her ears turned scarlet, and her fingers twitched. "As if!" she shouted, way too loud. Realizing she was making a scene, she dialed it back, looking away. "You wish." I almost laughed out loud. I immediately texted Future Me. Me: I went for it. Asked if she had a crush on me. Future Me: No way. What did she say?? Me: She denied it. Aggressively. Future Me sent a face-palm emoji. I felt the cringe transcending time and space. Minutes passed, and Chloe was still malfunctioning. She was fidgeting, refusing to look at me. I snapped a sneaky picture and sent it to the future. A moment later, I got a voice note. I meant to play it quietly, but my thumb slipped. I hit speaker. Future Chloe’s voice boomed through the Karaoke room. "God, was I really that cringe? I was so emotionally constipated." EVERYONE turned to look at me. Chloe froze, staring right at my phone. I panicked, tried to stop it, and accidentally hit the next voice note. "I’m surprised I ever got a husband acting like that. Look at me, wanting to say something but acting like a brat." Dude. Future Chloe was ruthless. She was roasting her younger self into oblivion. I fumbled with the phone and finally killed the volume. The room was silent. "Uh," I stammered. "My cousin. She was telling me a story about... her friend. Who waited ten years to tell a guy she liked him because she was too stubborn." It wasn't subtle. It was a neon sign. Chloe whipped her head around, staring at the wall. The others bought it and went back to fighting over the mic. But Chloe went quiet. She was thinking. Thirty minutes later, she leaned over. "So?" she whispered. "What happened?" "What happened with who?" "Your cousin's friend. Did she get the guy?" "Of course... not," I said. "My cousin's friend was too proud. Kind of like you. She spent all her time arguing with him instead of being nice. Why would he like her back?" I was being petty. Even knowing we get married, I still wanted to mess with her. Chloe’s face fell. I sighed, feigning wisdom. "Life’s short. You gotta shoot your shot. Otherwise, you miss the bus." Chloe bit her lip. She looked up at me, sudden and intense. "I like you."
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