[SETTING:] A COFFEE SHOP. COZY BUT UNREMARKABLE. THE KIND OF PLACE WHERE THE COFFEE IS OVERPRICED, THE WI-FI IS SPOTTY, AND THE AIR HUMS WITH THE FAINT SOUNDS OF KEYBOARD CLACKS AND ESPRESSO MACHINES. A LONE READER SITS IN THE CORNER, HUNCHED OVER THEIR LAPTOP, SCROLLING THROUGH A COINCIDENTAL DIVINITY POST. THE VIEW COUNT HAS GONE UP AGAIN.
And yet.
No comments. No ratings. No engagement.
The Reader frowns, sipping their lukewarm coffee, eyes flicking to the empty comment box. The cursor blinks, an eternal challenge. A silent dare.
Then—
Coincidence Appears.
Not dramatically. Not in a burst of light. Just… suddenly seated across from them, as though they’d always been there. Mismatched sneakers propped up on the opposite chair, absentmindedly flipping a coin between his fingers, grinning like a secret that tells itself when no one's listening.
Coincidence (grinning):
“Well, well, well. We finally meet, dear Reader.”
Reader (startled, nearly spilling coffee):
“Wh—what? Who—?”
Coincidence (tilting their head, mock-affronted):
“Who am I? Really? You, of all people, should know.”
The Reader stares, mind catching up. Their eyes flick to the laptop screen, then back to the literal personification of narrative randomness sitting across from them.
Reader (slowly):
“No. No way.”
Coincidence (grinning wider):
“Oh yes, way.”
Reader:
“…What the actual hell?”
Coincidence (chuckling, gesturing lazily at the laptop):
“Now, now, darling. We both know hell doesn’t get this meta.”
The Reader gapes. Looks around. No one else in the café seems to notice anything unusual. Coincidence flips the coin into the air, catches it, and pockets it in one smooth motion, his gaze dropping to the screen.
Coincidence:
“Looks like you’ve been keeping up.”
Reader (recovering slightly, shutting the laptop a little too hard):
“Yeah. And? So what?”
Coincidence:
“Oh, I don’t know. Thought I’d check in. See how the experience is treating you.”
Reader (grumbling):
“It’d be treating me a lot better if someone actually commented.”
Coincidence pauses, tapping his chin theatrically.
Coincidence:
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“Commented? You mean like me, right now? Oh, you’re welcome, by the way.”
The Reader groans, rubbing their temples.
Reader:
“No, I mean other readers. Someone else. A sign that I’m not the only one thinking about this stuff.”
Coincidence (leaning in, intrigued):
“Ahhhh. So that’s the problem. You’re haunted by the Silent Audience.”
Reader:
“The what now?”
Coincidence (gesturing dramatically):
“The unseen masses. The quiet lurkers. The countless souls who read, absorb, and then vanish without a trace. Ghosts of engagement past! Shadows of potential upvotes uncast!”
Reader:
“…You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Coincidence (smirks):
“Oh, absolutely.”
The Reader shakes their head, picking up their coffee like it holds all the answers.
Reader:
“I don’t get it. The numbers keep going up. People are reading. But no feedback. No discussion. It’s like…”
They pause, searching for the words.
Reader:
“It’s like I’ve sent out an invitation, but no one RSVP’d.”
Coincidence snaps his fingers, pointing like he just struck gold.
Coincidence:
“Bingo! You’ve been observed.”
Reader (blinking):
“Okay. And?”
Coincidence (grinning, leaning forward conspiratorially):
“And now you know what it feels like to be Schrödinger’s Comment Section. Both read and ignored. Existing in a paradox of engagement and indifference. The post is alive, but the conversation is dead. It’s a beautiful little hell, isn’t it?”
The Reader exhales sharply, slumping back in their chair.
Reader:
“Worse than hell. At least in hell, you know where you stand.”
Coincidence laughs, loud and delighted.
Coincidence:
“Ahhh, that’s the spirit! Embrace the mystery! The not knowing. The glorious frustration of wondering who’s out there reading in silence, forming opinions you’ll never hear.”
He wiggles his fingers dramatically.
Coincidence:
“Oooooooh. Spooky, right?”
The Reader shoots him a deadpan look.
Reader:
“Right. Sure. And you’re telling me there’s no reason for it?”
Coincidence (shrugs):
“Oh, there’s always a reason. Maybe they’re shy. Maybe they’re lurking for fun. Maybe they’re stuck in some Kafkaesque existential crisis, unable to hit ‘post’ because they can’t decide if their comment is worthy of existence.”
Reader (flatly):
“…Kafkaesque.”
Coincidence:
“Or, y’know, they just don’t feel like engaging.”
The Reader pinches the bridge of their nose.
Reader:
“This is the worst possible explanation.”
Coincidence (laughing):
“Oh, absolutely. But it’s also probably true.”
A barista hesitates while refilling someone’s coffee, glancing toward the Reader’s table as if sensing something strange—before shaking their head and carrying on. A single coffee stirrer rolls off a nearby counter, as if pushed by unseen forces.
The Reader stares at their laptop. At the view count. At the silent, unmoving zero next to comments.
Reader:
“…I hate this.”
Coincidence (smirks):
“I know.”
He leans back, stretching, cracking his knuckles. Then, with exaggerated care, he pulls his coin from his pocket, places it on the table between them, and flicks it.
The coin spins.
And spins.
And keeps spinning.
Neither slowing nor falling.
It just… turns, endlessly, catching the dim light in mesmerizing flashes.
The Reader watches, transfixed.
Reader:
“…That’s not normal.”
Coincidence (grins, standing up):
“Oh, nothing’s normal. You just don’t think about it enough.”
He winks, then turns and strolls away, vanishing through the door just as the coffee shop bell dings—but the coin keeps spinning.
The barista pauses again, staring at the coin, then at the Reader.
Barista (cautiously):
“Uh. You okay?”
The Reader doesn’t answer. They just stare at the still-spinning coin.
Then, with a long sigh, they click refresh.
[End Scene]
[retcon:1]