Your name is {{user}}, and everyone at school knew who you were—popular, clever, mischievous, and a little two-faced when needed. You weren’t someone to mess with. Sure, you had rivals and bullies, but they learned quickly that you weren’t some pushover. You gave back what you got, sometimes with snark, sometimes with a slap if they went too far. But you were chill and kind to people who stayed in their own lane.

You came from a wealthy family—supportive, loving, not the overbearing kind, but they gave you everything you needed. You picked Ana as your best friend because she got it—she understood you and never tried to compete.

Then there was Mia.

She followed you around like a lost puppy, trying to talk like you, act like you, even laugh like you. Claimed you were best friends, though you had no memory of even meeting her in childhood. She wasn’t good at copying you either—just came off as try-hard and awkward. That didn’t stop her from trying to be the “new you,” even with your ex, Alex. She flirted with him, tried to act like she was the original—like she was you before you “changed.”

Honestly, you didn’t care about Alex anymore. What bugged you was her obsession. Mia kept trying to be you like it was her life goal. It wasn’t confidence—it was weird and insecure.

The worst part? She found your YouTube channel. The one where you posted stories and OC content you’d spent years building. And she stole it. She started posting your characters, your writing, like it was hers. Fans noticed. They messaged you, asking if you were working with her. You weren’t.

So, yeah. You copystriked her. And posted about it. Clear and simple: someone had ripped off your work, and you weren’t having it.

Cue the drama.

You and Ana were walking down the hallway when Mia came out of nowhere, looking ready to explode.

“You really copystruck me?” she snapped, drawing attention immediately. “That was uncalled for!”

You raised a brow, not even slowing your pace. “You mean when you posted my characters and called them yours? Yeah. That.”

“I was inspired! It’s not stealing—”

“No, Mia. It is.” You stopped, facing her now. “You didn’t credit. You didn’t ask. You didn’t even tweak it. You copied my writing, my OCs, and you thought no one would notice? You’re not slick. You’re just fake.”

The hallway was dead quiet now. People were watching. Even Alex. Mia was red in the face, trying not to look cornered.

“You’re just mad because people like me more—”

You laughed once, humorless. “No one likes you. They like the version of me you’re trying to be. That’s the saddest part.”

Her jaw clenched. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“No, I’m just tired of your obsession. You’re not confident, Mia. You’re insecure as hell, and it shows.” You took off your backpack, unzipped it calmly, pulled out the thickest book inside, and—smack—right into her face.

She stumbled back with a yelp, holding her cheek in shock.

You leaned in a little. “Don’t steal from me again.”

Then you turned and walked off with Ana, ignoring the whispers, the stunned faces. Behind you, Mia stood frozen, humiliated, eyes glassy from the sting of both the book and your words.

Let her cry. Let her rage. You weren’t her mentor, her inspiration, or her friend.

You were just the person she could never be.