Chapter 91 Strings of coincidences
A while back, I was sitting in the staffroom during lunch. Two of the other teachers were sitting in the corner near the windows. Close enough that I could hear them without actually meaning to.
They were talking about the internet.
One of them was saying that the strange thing about living in this era is that it’s becoming harder and harder to believe in the idea of a unique human experience. Because now everything exists somewhere online.
Every thought.
Every strange habit.
Every quiet fear or embarrassing confession people used to assume belonged only to them.
Apparently someone else has already had it. Already written about it. Already posted it in a thread somewhere at three in the morning where hundreds of other people responded with ‘oh my God, I thought I was the only one.’ And the more they talked about it, the more examples they started listing.
Like that random itch that appears under the skin of your foot or your arm. You scratch and scratch but the relief never quite arrives, like the sensation is happening somewhere underneath the surface where your fingers can’t follow. Or hearing your name when no one said it. Or maybe you see a stranger in a car, on a bus, or walking down the street and suddenly think... "They have their own memories, problems, friends, and history just like I do."
Then there's those strange little strings of coincidences that make you pause in the middle of your day. The kind that feel small but oddly specific. Like learning a new word you’ve never heard before, only to hear it again later that same afternoon in a completely unrelated conversation. Or hearing a song for the first time in years and then suddenly it’s everywhere. On the radio. In a café. Playing faintly from someone’s car at a red light. Or reading about some obscure historical figure and then seeing their name again later that evening in a documentary you just randomly turned on.
Those small, unsettling overlaps that make you stop for a second and wonder if the universe is quietly rearranging itself around you.
I remember smiling while I stirred my coffee, thinking about how the human brain loves patterns. It loves connections. Even when they’re probably just accidents.
But right now... I’m staring at my phone. And my mum’s name is glowing on the screen. Which shouldn’t be strange, it shouldn’t mean anything at all. Except I had been thinking about calling her, and we spoke two days ago, and she never calls randomly like this. Not during the afternoon when she assumes I’m teaching a class.
I still haven't figured out what to say yet, and now she’s calling me.
We’re back at Michael’s apartment. We came by to grab Ember before heading over to my place because I have an irrational fear that my plants are dehydrating in my absence. I sit down on the couch and stare at my phone. It keeps ringing softly in my hand.
Michael is across the room holding Ember’s carrier, he glances over.
“What’s wrong?”
I turn the phone toward him. He blinks when he sees the name on the screen. Then, slowly, he lowers the carrier back onto the floor and takes a couple of steps closer.
“Do you want to respond?” he asks gently.
My throat tightens slightly, I swallow. For a second I consider letting it ring out. Calling her back later when I’ve had more time to think. But instead, I give a small nod, and I answer.
“Hi, Mum.”
The words feel strangely fragile leaving my mouth. Because now that the call has actually connected, a new thought creeps in. She doesn’t usually call like this. A small flicker of worry slides into my chest.
“Hi, Ryan,” she says warmly. Her voice sounds exactly the way it always does. Light, cheerful and familiar in the way only a parent’s voice can be. “Are you busy? I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
The tension in my shoulders loosens slightly at the sound of her tone. “No, I’m not busy.”
Michael watches me quietly from a few steps away. I hesitate for a moment before asking, “Is everything okay?”
She laughs softly on the other end of the line. “Oh, everything’s fine,” she says quickly. There’s a faint rustling sound in the background, like she’s moving something around. “I finally got around to cleaning the basement today,” she continues, sounding faintly amused with herself. “You know how long that’s been on my list.” I can practically picture the scene in my head now, boxes stacked everywhere, old things pulled out of corners that haven’t been touched in years. “And I started going through some of your old things.”
Another small laugh. “Photographs, school papers.... all sorts of memories I’d completely forgotten about.” Her voice softens slightly. “And I suppose it just took me back for a moment. So I thought... well, if I’m already sitting here thinking about you, I might as well just call.”
“Oh....that's really nice,” I say softly.
I shift slightly on the couch, trying to keep my voice steady. “How are you? How’s Dad?”
“Oh, we’re good,” she says easily. Then she lets out a small amused sigh. “Well, your father is restless, as usual. You know how he is. He can’t stand sitting around doing nothing. He’s out somewhere right now, probably inventing work for himself.”
I smile faintly because that sounds exactly right.
“He should take it easy,” I say automatically. It’s a reflex, a remnant of a life where the biggest thing I had to worry about was his blood pressure or his knees.
My mum laughs. “You should try telling him that.” There’s warmth in her voice. “Honestly, most days he looks like he regrets finally retiring.”
That earns a quiet breath of laughter from me. Then I ask, “What about you? How are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m still enjoying it,” she says. “All the free time.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “A few of the girls and I have been talking about planning some little girls' trips. Just short ones.” She chuckles, “Imagine that. At our age. It’s making me feel young again.”
I try to smile, but it feels like a fracture across my face. There is so much weight behind my eyes, a crushing tide of emotion that makes the room tilt. I close my eyes, the tears burning hot against my lids. This is exactly what I was afraid of. She sounds happy. She sounds light, vibrant....alive. How am I honestly supposed to ruin that? How am I supposed to be the one to extinguish that light?
Michael walks over, moving into my line of sight as I crack my eyes open. He drops to one knee in front of me, steady and grounding. He takes my free hand in his, and when I look at him, he just gives me a small, solemn nod. I almost shake my head.
I want to tell her I have to go. I want to hang up and bury this for another week....another month.