The Cost of Being Chosen

I used to complain about being forgettable all the time.

But Gavi always paid attention to things nobody else noticed. The first time I mentioned my favorite movie, he remembered it months later. When I complained once about wanting flowers but thinking they were a waste of money, he showed up the next week with my favorite ones. If I was upset, he’d somehow know before I even said anything. At first it felt like luck. Then it felt like fate. Eventually, it felt impossible not to fall in love with him.

Sometimes I'd ask how he always knew exactly what to do.

"Because I listen," he'd say with a smile.

And honestly, that answer was enough for me. Nobody had ever listened before.

Being with Gavi felt like finally being chosen. Every insecurity I’d ever had seemed to disappear around him. He knew exactly what to say when I was sad, exactly what to do when I was anxious, exactly how to make me laugh when I was angry. It was almost embarrassing how quickly my world started revolving around him. Without realizing it, I stopped making plans unless he was involved. I stopped checking my phone for anyone else’s messages. Some days I’d catch myself counting the minutes until he replied.

One night he took longer than usual.

Only two hours, but I couldn’t focus on anything else.

When he finally answered, I immediately called him. “Were you busy?"

"Yeah."

"With who?" There was a pause.

“Why?"

I laughed it off, “Nothing."

But even then, I knew I was lying.

Months passed, and things only got worse. My friends started joking that I disappeared whenever Gavi was around. My best friend once asked me if I even remembered life before him.

I remember laughing, I couldn’t answer the question.

The scary part was that I didn't want to.

The first time I noticed something was wrong was when Gavi cancelled our plans.

A normal thing, a healthy thing. Something couples do all the time.

Yet I spent the entire evening staring at our chat, rereading old messages, wondering if he was mad at me.

The next morning I showed up at his house unannounced.

When he opened the door, he looked shocked, “How did you know where I was?"

"You told me once."

His expression didn’t change. But for the first time since I’d known him, he looked worried.

A few weeks later, I found an old notebook in his room while he was downstairs. I wasn't trying to snoop. I only opened it because my name was written on the first page.

The earliest entries were from before we started dating, before our first kiss, before I even knew he liked me.

There were lists.

Pages and pages of lists;

My favorite songs, my favorite books, things I hated, things I loved, topics that made me smile, topics that made me emotional and every tiny detail I’d ever shared with him.

My stomach dropped as I kept reading, near the end was a page titled:

How to Make Her Fall in Love.

I laughed at first because it sounded ridiculous.

Then I kept reading and stopped laughing.

That night I confronted him.

The notebook sat between us on the table.

For a long time, neither of us spoke. Finally, I asked:

"Is this real?"

Gavi looked at the notebook, then nodded “Yeah."

"You planned all of this?"

His jaw tightened “At first."

I stared at him. “Why?"

For a moment he looked embarrassed, almost ashamed;

"Because I loved you."

After that, something changed. I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

At first it felt normal. We were dating. Of course I thought about him. But then it became the first thing I thought about when I woke up and the last thing I thought about before sleeping. If he took too long to answer, I couldn't focus. If he cancelled plans, my entire day felt ruined. Every conversation somehow ended with me mentioning him.

The worst part was that I knew it wasn't healthy.

I just didn't care.

One afternoon, Gavi introduced me to one of his childhood friends. She was nice. Funny. The type of person I would've liked under normal circumstances.

Instead, I spent the entire conversation watching her.

The way she laughed at his jokes, the way she touched his shoulder., the way he smiled at her. I kept hearing her laugh, seeing her face.

A week later, she died in a car accident.

People called it tragic, unlucky or random.

I attended the funeral with Gavi, I remember standing beside him and feeling something I should’ve been ashamed of.

Relief.

After that, it kept happening.

Not often, not enough for anyone to notice.

Just enough.

A classmate who kept flirting with him collapsed from an undiagnosed heart condition.

A coworker who became too close to him disappeared during a hiking trip.

Another friend died in a motorcycle accident.

Every time someone got too close, every time I felt that same jealousy.

Eventually Gavi noticed the pattern too.

One night he sat across from me in complete silence, for a long time neither of us spoke.

Then he asked:

"Do you ever think about them before it happens?"

My stomach dropped.

"What?"

"The people who die."

The room suddenly felt too cold. “Gavi..."

"Do you?"

I couldn’t answer, because I did.

A few days later he finally told me the truth, the notebook wasn’t just a plan.

Months before we met, he’d found something online. A ritual. A prayer. A stupid thing he never believed would actually work.

All it promised was one thing:

The person he loved would love him back.

Nothing more,

Nothing less.

The next morning, Gavi was gone.

No messages.

No calls.

Nothing.

The police found him three days later, They called it suicide.

Months later, while sorting through his belongings, I found a letter hidden inside the notebook.

The handwriting was shaky.

Uneven.

Like he’d written it while crying, the final lines said;

• The ritual never said she would love me.
• It said she would belong to me.
• And the only way to break it is for one of us to die.

Then, underneath:

“I know you would never let it be you”