When You Feel It Too

The Collision

The moment our eyes locked, everything felt too still, too quiet.

I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, and yet all I could focus on was the pain in my foot, pulsing sharply like it was being mirrored in the guy standing across from me.

I blinked, unsure of what to make of it.

I felt like I was losing my mind. This kind of thing—this connection—didn't make any sense.

It was crazy.

The guy limped toward the counter, his sharp features twisted in discomfort, and I couldn't stop staring at him.

Every time he shifted his weight, I felt the tug of pain in my own foot.

I tried to focus on something else, anything else, but my body wouldn't stop reacting to him.

"Are you okay?" the nurse behind the counter asked him, her voice concerned.

He nodded, but it wasn't convincing.

He was in pain.

I could tell from the way he clenched his jaw and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

It almost mirrored my own discomfort.

I stood up, suddenly feeling the need to move, to get away from this strange sensation that seemed to be rooted in the very air between us.

My ankle was still throbbing, but it wasn't just that—it was something else, something I couldn't explain.

I limped over to the counter, trying to shake the weird feeling off.

But when I reached it, I felt it again.

The pain.

It shot through me, sharp and sudden.

I gripped the edge of the counter, eyes wide as I looked at the guy again.

He must have felt it too, because his gaze flickered toward me, confused and just as startled as I felt.

"What the hell?" he muttered under his breath, taking a cautious step back as if trying to escape the invisible force that seemed to be pulling us together.

I swallowed hard, feeling a wave of anxiety sweep over me.

Something was definitely off.

This couldn't be normal.

It couldn't just be some coincidence that we were both experiencing the same pain, at the same time.

"You—" I started, my voice faltering. "You felt that too, didn't you?"

The guy looked at me like I had just asked him if the sky was purple.

"I—what?" He looked baffled for a moment before his eyes narrowed. "No, I didn't—"

But then he stopped, his face paling slightly as if he'd just realized something.

"Wait," he said slowly, stepping toward me. "You felt that?"

I nodded. "Yeah. My foot... it's like... it's like someone's—"

He grimaced. "Twisting it?"

I froze.

That's exactly what it felt like.

He exhaled shakily, clearly processing something.

"This is... ridiculous," he muttered. "I thought I was just imagining things. But then... you felt it too?"

I nodded again, this time more cautiously.

I wasn't sure what was going on, but I couldn't ignore it.

The pain we were both feeling couldn't be a coincidence.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, frustration written all over his face.

"I've been dealing with this weird stuff for years," he admitted in a low voice, as if not wanting anyone else to overhear.

"But... I didn't think it was anything real. I thought it was just stress or... I don't know." He glanced at me again, his eyes hardening. "Are you telling me you've been feeling it too?"

I was still trying to piece everything together in my head, but something in me clicked.

I had never experienced anything like this before, not to this extent.

There had been times I felt like I was physically connected to something else, some other force that mirrored my pain.

But never like this, never so sharp and... real.

"I don't know how to explain it," I said slowly. "But yeah. It's like I feel what you feel. And vice versa. Right now, my foot is burning. And I swear, it's because of you."

His expression faltered, like he wasn't quite ready to process what I had just said.

He looked at me like I had grown an extra head.

But then, something in his gaze softened, a hesitant curiosity flickering in his eyes. "So you're telling me... I'm not crazy?"

I gave him a lopsided grin. "I hope not. Because I think I'm the one who's going insane here."

We both chuckled nervously, but the tension still hung between us, thick and palpable.

Neither of us had answers.

And yet, in the silence that followed, something else lingered in the air.

A connection.

A thread pulling us together that we couldn't deny, no matter how insane it seemed.

The nurse finally called both of us in, and we were ushered into different rooms, but my mind was still buzzing with questions.

What was going on between us?

Why did our pain feel the same?

As I sat down on the examination table, the pain in my foot subsided a little.

But the thought of that guy—the one who seemed to feel it too—stayed with me.

I had no idea who he was.

But I knew one thing: meeting him was no accident.

Whatever this connection was, it was just the beginning.