Entanglement

The first time she saw her, it felt like déjà vu wrapped in something colder.

Not because the new girlfriend looked like her-she didn't. It was the way she laughed at the same things, stood a little too close, wore his hoodie like it had always belonged to her. Like she had stepped into a life that hadn't finished unraveling.

At first, it was just coincidence. Running into each other at the same shopping centers. Then the same hallway. The same late-night convenience store, fluorescent lights flickering like a warning neither of them could hear.

But then it stopped feeling accidental.

Serenity was quiet , observant, still carrying the ghost of what used to be-started noticing patterns. The new girlfriend would show up before she arrived. Know things she'd never said out loud. Smile just a second too long, like she was in on a secret no one else could understand.

And when they finally spoke, it wasn't about him.

"I feel like I already know you," the new girlfriend said softly, eyes sharp, searching.

That's when the unease turned into something darker.

Because the more time they spent circling each other testing boundaries, trading half-truths, pushing just far enough-the clearer it became: this wasn't about jealousy. It wasn't even about him anymore.

It was a game.

A quiet, dangerous one.

And neither of them were entirely innocent.