My Hidden Love Affair

I used to think destiny was just a story people told when they wanted life to feel less random. Something you whisper to yourself at night so you can pretend everything makes sense. But sometimes life does things that make you pause. It throws pieces together in ways that feel too neat. Too perfect. Almost suspicious.

Like the night I was born.

Or the night Duncan was born.

Same hospital. Same hour. Same storm hammering against the windows like it wanted to come inside. The nurses were running back and forth. Babies were crying. Moms were screaming. You know, the usual chaos. And somehow, in all of that noise, two families found each other.

My mother always said she heard Duncan’s first cry before she heard mine. She said his cry sounded strong. Like he was already fighting something. My father said he looked like trouble from the start. Wide eyes. Dark hair. Tiny fists clenched as if he wanted to punch the world.

I do not remember any of this. Obviously. But they told the same story so many times that it feels like a memory now.

Our mothers shared a room. Our fathers shook hands, even though they came from families that should have stayed far apart. Vampire bloodline on one side. Werewolf bloodline on the other. Two species that never mixed. Never trusted each other. Not even a little. But humans forget things. And both our parents were living a little too human back then.

They exchanged congratulations. They admired each other’s babies. They talked about the weather, the storm, the future. Everything felt normal. Safe. Calm.

And then the nurses noticed something strange.

I stopped crying the moment Duncan cried.

He stopped crying the moment I cried.

Our little bodies reacted to each other like we were listening. Like we knew each other. Like something was pulling us into the same rhythm. Two hearts tapping the same beat.

My mother said she felt a shiver run through her spine. Duncan’s mother said the same thing.

I like to imagine them looking at each other with wide eyes and thinking, what are the odds.

Life was already stitching us together before we even opened our eyes properly.

When they took us home from the hospital, our families ended up driving in the same direction. They both lived in the same expensive neighbourhood. Rows of white houses. Polished gardens. Security at every gate. Too neat to be real. Too quiet for anyone with supernatural blood. But our parents tried so hard to blend in that it became their home.

Our houses sat right next to each other. Same tall fences. Same trimmed hedges. Same everything. It made my childhood feel like a shared world. I could see Duncan’s room from my window. Sometimes I would spot him jumping on his bed like a wild animal. Sometimes he would catch me drawing and tap on the glass until I looked at him.

We grew up like that. Always in each other’s line of sight.

When I learned to walk, he learned to run. When he learned to talk, he talked too much. I drew on the walls. He pretended not to laugh when I got scolded. He broke a window once and blamed it on a bird. I told his mother I saw the bird. I lied for him. I still do not know why.

He used to bring me flowers from our garden. Little white ones. The petals fell apart easily, but he always held them like treasure. Sometimes he would hand them to me without saying anything. Just a small smile. A small gesture. Something gentle he would never admit to now.

Back then, he smelled like soap and sunlight. I know that sounds weird, but it is true. He had that warm scent you never forget. A lycan scent hiding under something human. It felt safe.

My scent was different. Daywalker vampires do not smell like death or dirt. We smell like whatever we eat. I ate too many strawberries as a kid, so Duncan always said I smelled like jam.

He still says that sometimes.

Our childhood was simple. Too simple. We played hide and seek. We rode our bikes. We shared secrets under the old maple tree behind our houses. The grown ups always watched us. Not because they were overprotective, but because they feared what could happen if our instincts ever woke up too early.

Vampire and werewolf blood never mixed well. Everyone knew that. Except us. We did not care. We were kids.

I remember one day clearly. I do not know why. We were seven or maybe eight. Duncan dared me to climb the tall fence between our yards. I slipped and scraped my knee. I cried like the world was ending. He panicked and tried to carry me home, even though he could barely lift a chair. He dropped me twice. Then he carried me again because he would not give up.

When he finally got me home, my mother looked at him like he was the hero of the world. Even though I had dirt all over my face and grass stuck in my hair.

She thanked him. He puffed out his chest. He liked being the hero.

He still does.

Sometimes I replay those memories in my head and wonder if we ever had a chance at a normal life. Maybe if we stayed little forever. Maybe if high school never happened. Maybe if my blood did not crave things it should not crave. Maybe if his anger did not live under his skin. Maybe.

But fate has a strange sense of humour. It lets you get comfortable just before it pulls the rug from under your feet.

Our childhood ended slowly. You never see the end of something while it is happening. You just wake up one day and realize you are not the same anymore.

The first change happened when Duncan’s powers started showing. He grew taller faster. Stronger. The wolf started waking up. His temper got sharper. His eyes glowed when he was angry. He got into fights with boys twice his size. He always won.

The neighbourhood kids started calling him a monster. He did not care. He never cared about what people thought unless I was the one saying it.

When I got my first signs of being a daywalker, I hid in my room for hours. My veins glowed faintly under the light. My senses sharpened. Everything smelled too strong. Too bright. Too much. For a while, I was scared Duncan would look at me and see something ugly.

But he did not. He just looked at my glowing veins and said they looked pretty.

I should not have blushed, but I did.

We entered middle school together. Everyone thought we were siblings or cousins. We corrected them at first, but after a while we just let them assume. It felt easier. Safer.

Then came high school.

That is when everything cracked.

Duncan walked into school the first day and girls looked at him like he was some celebrity. Boys stared at him like they wanted to be him. Teachers paused when he walked by. He had grown into his wolf body. Tall. Sharp jaw. Deep voice. Eyes that could cut glass. Hair that somehow always fell perfectly. He was too pretty for his own good.

And then the music happened.

Someone heard him singing backstage. Someone recorded it. The video went viral. Overnight he became the pretty boy rock singer every girl wanted to date. He joined a band. He performed at school events. He performed at local shows. He had fans. Real ones. Not the pretend ones.

I watched it all from a distance.

He still came over after school. We still talked. We still shared snacks and stupid stories. But something had shifted. At school, we were strangers. At home, we were best friends. It was strange. Confusing. A little painful. But I told myself it was fine.

It was not fine.

I remember the day he walked into school holding Lila’s hand. She was the prettiest girl in our year. Long blond hair. Soft laugh. Big blue eyes. Everyone thought they looked perfect together. People whispered about them in the hallways. They posted pictures online. They tagged him. They tagged her.

I kept my face still. Neutral. Like none of it hurt.

But that day, when I went home, I sat on my bed and wondered if this was the start of losing him.

He came over that evening like nothing happened. He sat on my floor. He ate the cookies my mother baked. He talked about band practice. He made jokes. He made me laugh.

He did not mention Lila. Not once.

I did not mention her either.

Sometimes silence says too much.

But even as everything changed, some things stayed the same. He always checked on me. He always found me. He always noticed when something was wrong. His wolf instincts were too sharp.

Once, during a stormy night, the power went out in our neighbourhood. I panicked because my senses were overstimulated by the dark. My vision sharpened too much. My hunger rose without warning. The monster in me scratched at the surface.

Duncan climbed through my window and sat with me. No questions. No judgment. Just presence. He placed his hand over mine. My senses calmed. My hunger faded. My panic eased.

He had no idea what he was doing to me.

Maybe I had no idea either.

Looking back, I think that night was the first time something between us shifted again. Something small. Something quiet. Something warm.

We were not kids anymore.

We were not strangers either.

We were something in between. Something dangerous.

I should have seen the signs of what was coming.

All the moments. All the glances. All the unspoken things.

But I was too wrapped up in my own world to notice that fate was slowly setting the stage.

For the night that would change everything.

For the kiss that would ruin every safe thing we built.

For the love we were never meant to have.

I should have seen it.

I really should have.

But destiny had already written the first line.

And we were already walking straight into it.