Crossroads of Fate

The days that followed were like a dream, fragmented and surreal. I couldn't shake off the feeling that my encounter with Shigaraki had unlocked something within me, something that drew me to others like a magnet. At first, it was just fleeting glimpses, brief encounters that left me wondering if I had really seen what I thought I had. I was walking through the mall with my parents when I could have sworn I saw Bakugou Katsuki, his messy black hair and scowl unmistakable. But when I turned to get a better look, he was gone, lost in the crowd. I told myself it was just my imagination playing tricks on me, that I had been watching too many anime episodes. But the image lingered, haunting me. The next day, I was sipping coffee with my mother at a fancy restaurant when I spotted a woman with bright red lipstick and piercing eyes. Midnight, I thought, my heart skipping a beat. But when I looked again, she was just a stranger, sipping her coffee and chatting with her companion. And then there was the crowd, a sea of faces that blurred together until I thought I saw Todoroki Natsuo, his eyes and hair eerily similar to Shouto's. I spun around, but he was gone, swallowed up by the throngs of people. It was as if I was seeing ghosts, fragments of lives that weren't mine. I couldn't explain it, couldn't understand why I was encountering these people, these characters. It was like the universe was taunting me, dangling them in front of me just out of reach. The encounters grew more frequent, more intense. I was on the bus, squashed between a mom with a screaming baby and a businessman typing away on his phone. I bumped into someone, apologized, and looked up to meet a pair of sunken, sleep-deprived eyes. My breath hitched. I felt a jolt of recognition, a spark of electricity that ran through my veins. The young man's black hair was tied in a loose bun, and he looked...familiar. "Sorry," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. The young man waved his hand, grumbling, "It's fine, I wasn't looking either." He grabbed a bottle of eye-drops from his pocket, took a few, and rubbed his eyes. As he turned to leave, our eyes met again, and I felt a jolt of recognition. This time, I was certain. This was no coincidence. My parents, oblivious to the drama unfolding beside them, encouraged me to apologize again, but the young man just muttered under his breath and exited the bus. As I watched him disappear into the crowd, I couldn't shake off the feeling that my life was about to change forever.