Sofia sat on the edge of the bed, letting her hands glide over the fabric of the sheets. The shades of burgundy and dusty pink gave her a sense of calm, of familiarity. She looked around—the mirror in the corner of the room reflected the warm afternoon light, and the curtains, with their geometric pattern, gently swayed in the breeze. She liked decorating her home by instinct, choosing things that brought her comfort, without thinking too much about their meanings.
But in recent weeks, she had started seeing patterns.
She opened her phone and, as usual, went to Alex’s profile. She didn’t officially follow him, but she knew every post. Sometimes, she felt like he did the same thing, responding to her subtly through a photograph, a quote, or a gesture that only she could notice. She scanned the latest picture he had posted: him, in a café, wearing a sweater with the same pattern and color she had. She stopped abruptly. Coincidence? How many, really?
The curtains behind him were almost identical to hers. The mirror she had caught in his selfie had the same frame she had bought two years ago. Even the bedding in an old photo seemed to be made from the same fabric she now felt under her fingers. How likely was that?
Sofia bit her lip, trying to gather her thoughts. They had never spoken. They had only flirted online for a while, with subtle reactions and posts that seemed to respond to each other. The digital mirrors through which they observed each other were their only real connection, and yet, she had begun to feel that there was something more.
Carl Jung spoke about synchronicity, about those events that cannot be logically explained, but that give us the feeling that nothing is accidental. What if all these seemingly insignificant choices were actually a map? What if, over the years, their paths had been interwoven invisibly, through details neither of them had consciously noticed at the beginning?
She turned off her phone and stared blankly. Maybe she didn’t need an answer. Maybe it was enough to know that, somewhere, in another corner of the city, Alex was sitting on a similar bed, under the same shades of burgundy, wondering, perhaps, the same question.
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But in recent weeks, she had started seeing patterns.
She opened her phone and, as usual, went to Alex’s profile. She didn’t officially follow him, but she knew every post. Sometimes, she felt like he did the same thing, responding to her subtly through a photograph, a quote, or a gesture that only she could notice. She scanned the latest picture he had posted: him, in a café, wearing a sweater with the same pattern and color she had. She stopped abruptly. Coincidence? How many, really?
The curtains behind him were almost identical to hers. The mirror she had caught in his selfie had the same frame she had bought two years ago. Even the bedding in an old photo seemed to be made from the same fabric she now felt under her fingers. How likely was that?
Sofia bit her lip, trying to gather her thoughts. They had never spoken. They had only flirted online for a while, with subtle reactions and posts that seemed to respond to each other. The digital mirrors through which they observed each other were their only real connection, and yet, she had begun to feel that there was something more.
Carl Jung spoke about synchronicity, about those events that cannot be logically explained, but that give us the feeling that nothing is accidental. What if all these seemingly insignificant choices were actually a map? What if, over the years, their paths had been interwoven invisibly, through details neither of them had consciously noticed at the beginning?
She turned off her phone and stared blankly. Maybe she didn’t need an answer. Maybe it was enough to know that, somewhere, in another corner of the city, Alex was sitting on a similar bed, under the same shades of burgundy, wondering, perhaps, the same question.