Life Spoiled by Spoilers

5

Jo and I hit it off from the start. She was a junior in college, working part-time at the café where we met. We'd spend our days off lounging at home, binging on movies—her preference for indie films clashing with my love for horror flicks, leading to our playful tiffs over the remote.

"Today, you and your girlfriend will argue, and she'll move out."

Reading this note made my heart sink. Jo and I had a solid relationship; could a disagreement really escalate to such extremes?

"Why do you always head straight for the fridge every morning? It's such an odd habit," Jo asked one morning, yawning in her cute pajamas.

I crumpled the note into my pocket, dismissing her query with a chuckle, "Just hungry when I wake up, that's all."

I decided not to vie for the remote today, no matter what.

"What are you hiding there?" Jo inquired, noticing my guarded behavior.

"Nothing, really."

"It's in your pocket. Show me," she insisted, reaching out.

A wave of anxiety washed over me. Everything I'd experienced so far was my secret alone, too fantastical for anyone to believe. Sharing it with Jo might invite unwelcome mysteries into her life—a risk I wasn't willing to take.

"It's really nothing," I assured her.

"If it's nothing, then show me."

Determined to keep my secret, I tossed the note from the balcony, hoping to distract her with something else.

"Are you keeping something from me?" Jo's eyes welled up with tears.

"No, it's not what you think."

I was panicking, unsure how to explain without revealing the truth.

"Have you fallen for someone else?"

"Of course not!"

"Was that note from another girl?"

Her imagination was running wild.

"No, it's not as complicated as you think."

But Jo's patience snapped, and she accused, "You don't trust me!"

I was flabbergasted. Was this really the root of our argument? I debated whether to unveil the truth, but Jo was too quick. She grabbed her bag and stormed out before I could explain.

Fate is like a speeding train, and we're not just passengers; we're the tracks.

The cold war lasted a few days until I managed to win Jo back with apologies and a lavish dinner.

"You haven't ever lied to me, have you?" Jo asked before bed.

"I swear I've never lied to you."

"I hate liars the most. Don't ever lie to me, or you'll regret it."

"OK. Let's just sleep," I reassured her.

As I turned off the bedside lamp, I pondered the future of those fateful notes in the fridge.

Resorting to sneaking them out during late-night bathroom breaks was my only option, a real inconvenience for someone who cherishes sleep.