Whispers of Fate

Chapter 3

Adele's POV :

I usually don't care much about what

people say or write about me. The

rumors, the fan theories, the endless

speculation-it all rolls off my back. I've

learned to let it go, to focus on what

matters. But this time, it was different.

These stories, they were raw and honest,

almost painfully so. They were pure in a

way that caught me off guard.

There was something about them that

struck a chord deep within me. I couldn't

stop thinking about the writer, about the

person who had captured such depth

and emotion. I wanted to know who she

was, what inspired her to write these

stories, but there was almost nothing to

go on-just a single picture of a girl with

her face turned away from the camera.

So, I did the only thing I could think of. I

mentioned the stories in an interview,

hoping it might draw her out, or at the

very least, spark some kind of reaction.

But after the interview aired, there was

nothing. No response, no hint of who she

was. It became clear that this writer

wanted to remain unknown. But I didn't

want that. I couldn't just let it go.

I could have taken matters into my own

hands, but I knew that once I spoke,

others would take up the search. The

media, the fans-they'd investigate,

they'd dig. I didn't need to push too hard.

They'd make things easier for me.

One day, as I was scrolling through

YouTube, I stumbled across a new video.

It was an interview related to the stories,

and the title caught my eye immediately.

I clicked on it out of curiosity.

At first, everything seemed normal. The

girl being interviewed was confident,

answering questions with ease. But then,

the interviewer asked her about the

stories, and I saw it-the change in her

expression. It was subtle, but

unmistakable. Her eyes widened slightly,

panic flickered across her face before

she masked it with a calm smile. She

tried to stay cool, and for the most part,

she succeeded. But she couldn't fool me.

I've spent years on stage, under the

spotlight, learning how to read a room,

how to read people. I know whe

someone is hiding something, and this

girl, she was hiding a lot.

By the end of the interview, I was 100

percent sure. This girl was the writer. It

was obvious. The way she reacted, the

nervous energy she tried to keep in

check-it all pointed to her. So, I did

what I had to do. I told my team to

investigate her for me.

It didn't take long. Within a short time, I

had everything I needed to know: her

name, her age, her career, even her

home address.

But I didn't want to scare her off. I

wanted to meet this woman, but I knew I

had to be careful, to approach her in a

way that wouldn't make her uneasy. So, I

decided to do something interesting.

I reached out to a company I frequently

work with, a photography agency, and

told them to offer her an opportunity as

a photographer. I made sure they

wouldn't mention my name. The plan

was simple: we'd work at the same

company, and I'd find a way to get close

to her by chance, to make it seem like a

natural, serendipitous encounter.

It was a great plan, one that would allow

me to approach her without scaring her

off. She wouldn't know that I knew who

she was, that I had read every word

she'd written.

I couldn't wait to see how this would

unfold, to finally meet the woman whose

words had moved me so deeply. There

was something about her that intrigued

me, something that made me want to

know her, not just as a writer, but as a

person. This was going to be interesting,

and I was determined to see it through.