Read My Online Buddy :: A Taste Of Popularity

Jane: So you have no idea what kind of content to post on your page?

Kana: (nods slowly) I’ve been brainstorming for the past four days, but I still can’t come up with anything. (gloomy) It’s so frustrating.

Jane sat down gently in the chair beside Kana’s bed, her arms folded casually as she watched the girl scroll aimlessly through her Twibbler feed. The screen glowed dimly in the hospital room’s soft light, illuminating Kana’s furrowed brow. After a brief moment of silence, an idea popped into Jane’s head.

Jane: What if you posted about anime? Like weekly reviews or something?

Kana: That won’t work. I’d actually have to watch anime for that, and I don’t think it’s my thing. So,no.

Jane hummed and tilted her head in thought before speaking again.

Jane: Hmm… okay. What if you made posts introducing yourself? Telling people your story—your experiences. That kind of stuff tends to resonate with people.

Kana: I already did that on the first day. Got a few responses—ten followers, to be exact. Besides, I think I’m going to delete those posts soon.

Jane: Why?

Kana:(sighs deeply) I don’t want to feel like I’m selling myself short—like I’m just using my life for likes and followers. It doesn’t feel right. I want to post something that actually draws people in… something that’s worth reading. Not pity bait.

Jane’s lips pressed into a thin line as she absorbed Kana’s words.

Jane: But you know it doesn’t just happen overnight, right? It takes time and consistency. It’s like building a garden. You can’t expect it to bloom after one day of watering.

Kana: Yeah you’re right. Maybe I’m too impatient. But… (clenches her fists) I don’t know. I just feel like…

Jane’s eyes flicked downward, noticing the subtle way Kana’s hands curled tightly into fists on her lap. And then, the realization hit her.

Jane: (to herself) She’s afraid… that she won’t have enough time to make an impact before she dies.

A weight settled in Jane’s chest. She wanted to say something comforting. She wanted to tell Kana that everything would be fine.

But she couldn’t.

Because no words could erase the truth Kana was living with. No words could mend a reality so unfair. And lying would only insult the strength Kana had been showing every single day.

To distract herself, Jane glanced around the room—and that’s when she saw it. A worn-looking hardcover book sitting at the foot of Kana’s bed.

Jane: Hey, what's that book over there?

Kana’s eyes followed Jane’s gaze—and immediately widened in alarm when they landed on the journal.

Kana: (panicking internally) Crap. Why did I forget to hide it after writing earlier?

In a flash, she leaned forward and snatched it into her arms, hugging it protectively.

Kana: Oh, this? Uh… just a book. Something I write in. Nothing special.

Jane: Like a diary?

Kana: (cartoonish face) NOT LIKE THAT!!!

Jane: (laughs) Okay, okay! Then what is it? What do you write in there?

Kana: (red faced) Uh….just….just…

Jane: ?

Kana: …just…some poems. Poems. That's all.

Jane’s eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise.

Jane: Really? Can I see them?

Kana: (nervously clutches book tighter) YOU CAN'T!!!

Jane: Why not?

Kana: Well….

Kana scrambled mentally for a reason—anything that might justify why Jane couldn’t read her poems. Then it hit her. The same excuse she’d used with Dr. Kennedy just a few days ago..

Kana: They’re emotionless poems. I don’t want to bore you with them.

Jane: (grins) Oh? Isn’t that the same thing you told Dr Kennedy?

Kana’s face turned an even deeper shade of red.

Kana: (internally) The same excuse won’t work twice, huh?

Seeing Kana’s flustered state, Jane burst into laughter.

Kana, feeling utterly embarrassed, curled into a tight ball and yanked her blanket over her head with an exaggerated fwomp!.

Jane: (teasing) Are you mad at me?

Kana: (muffled) Go away.

Jane: (laughs) You know you’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.

Kana: (muffled, voice rising) Shut up!!!

Jane’s laughter rang throughout the room, echoing into the hallway. A couple of nurses walking by peeked into the room with curious expressions. But when they saw the joyful interaction between Kana and Jane, they smiled. It was rare to see someone getting through to the quiet girl in Room 208.

Satisfied that Kana was in good hands, they walked away.

Jane, noticing the attention they’d attracted, softened her tone and leaned closer.

Jane: Kana?

Kana: (no response)

Jane: Kana, I’m sorry alright? I promise to not laugh at you again, alright?

Silence. Then—

Kana: You promise?

Jane: Yeah Kana….(smiles) I promise.

The blanket shifted slightly, and Kana peeked out from underneath it. Her cheeks were still red, and her expression was somewhere between annoyed and shy—but Jane could see her resolve slowly melting.

Jane: Now, will you let me see your journal?

Kana hesitated for a moment before, with slight reluctance, she handed over her hardcover book.

*****

Kana watched in silence as Jane flipped through the pages of her journal. Her eyes moved slowly, carefully, almost reverently over each poem. Every so often, Jane would pause, lift her gaze to Kana with a thoughtful expression, then look back down to the page, her fingers gently turning to the next.

The cycle repeated over and over, and each repetition chipped away at Kana’s nerves.

She sat stiffly in bed, her fingers anxiously fidgeting with the edge of her blanket. Her mind buzzed with questions she couldn’t silence.

“Does she like it?”

“Why hasn’t she said anything yet?”

“Is she just trying to find a nice way to tell me it’s awful?”

“There are over seventy poems… what if she read the one I wrote at 3 a.m. crying into my pillow?”

The silence felt heavy, pressing down on her shoulders. Her heart pounded against her chest like it wanted out. She could almost hear her self-doubt whispering in her ears, over and over: “You’re not good enough. It’s childish. It doesn’t matter.”

Then—at last—Jane closed the journal slowly, resting it on her lap with a soft thud. The sound startled Kana, and she sat up straighter, eyes wide, breath caught in her throat.

Jane let out a breath, her expression still unreadable.

Jane: I’m really surprised, Kana. This… is really good.

Kana blinked, as if she’d misheard.

Kana: It… is?

Jane nodded, the corners of her lips tugging into a smile.

Jane: Absolutely. I could feel the thought behind every word. The emotions. The honesty. These poems aren’t just words on paper—they feel like pieces of you.

Kana looked down quickly, her cheeks flushing. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

Kana: (softly) Am I really… that good?

Jane: Yes, Kana. Your writing is raw and vulnerable in the best way. It’s genuine. You’ve got something rare. You made me feel something with every line—and that’s not easy to do.

Kana gave a small, bashful smile.

Kana: Thank you… Ms. Jane.

Jane leaned back in the chair, her smile lingering.

Jane: When did you start writing?

Kana: A few months ago. I was just… tired. Of the same routines. Pills, TV, naps… silence. Then one day, I found this old notebook in the drawer over there— (she gestured toward the far wall) —and thought, “Why not?” At first, it was messy. Just fragments of feelings. I didn’t even know what I was doing. I never imagined anyone would read them, let alone care.

Jane’s expression shifted, brightened by an idea. She snapped her fingers suddenly.

Jane: Of course! I know exactly what you should post on Twibbler!

Kana tilted her head, startled by the shift.

Kana: Huh? What do you mean?

Jane leaned forward and pointed to the journal now resting on Kana’s lap.

Jane: That. Your poems. That’s what you should share.

Kana’s heart dropped. Her smile faded, and she gripped the journal protectively.

Kana: …No. I’m not doing that.

Jane blinked.

Jane: Why not?

Kana: Because… it’s too personal. I only showed you because I trust you. But posting it for strangers? That’s different. What if they don’t get it? What if they laugh, or worse—what if no one cares?

Jane’s tone softened.

Jane: I get that. But your words could mean something to someone else out there. You never know—there might be another girl reading Twibbler right now, feeling exactly the way you felt when you wrote those poems. You could be a light for her.

Kana looked down at her lap, the journal resting like a weight she wasn’t sure she could lift.

Kana: I’m just… not ready.

Jane gave a quiet sigh, but her voice was gentle.

Jane: That’s okay. I won’t push you. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready. But when the time comes—and I believe it will—I’ll be here. Cheering you on the whole way. Deal?

Kana hesitated, then gave a tiny nod.

Kana: Deal…

The room fell quiet again, this time more peaceful than tense. Jane checked the clock on the wall.

Jane: Oh wow—past five already? I need to go grab your dinner tray so you can take your meds on time. I’ll be back in a few, okay?

Kana: Okay.

Jane gave her one last warm smile, then walked to the door. It slid open with a soft hiss, and she stepped out, leaving Kana alone in the quiet room.

Kana stared at the journal in her lap. The faint reflection of her face stared back from the glossy hardcover. Her chest felt tight—not with pain, but with something else. A strange, aching mixture of fear, pride, and maybe… hope.

Maybe.

******

It was 11:47 PM. Most doctors had left, leaving only a few night-shift workers and nurses finishing their rounds. The hospital was quiet, cloaked in the soft hum of machines and distant footsteps fading down empty halls.

Kana peeked around the corner, then slipped out from her room, clutching her phone and journal. She moved carefully, every step echoing faintly as she made her way to the stairwell. The chill of the night air greeted her as she stepped onto the rooftop, the soft glow of lamps casting gentle pools of light on the cold concrete.

This rooftop was her refuge—where the walls of her room felt less suffocating, and her swirling emotions could breathe. It was where she had first come four years ago, after a painful call to her mother whose words still haunted her:

“I don’t know who you are. Don’t call again.”

That was all it took. Those words sent Kana spiraling into the darkest moment of her life.

She had come up to this very rooftop with only one thought in her mind: to end the pain.

Standing at the edge, looking down at the world she felt no longer belonged to, Kana believed she was ready to disappear.

But when the time came—when the wind howled in her ears and the tears blurred her vision—she couldn’t do it. Something inside her, fragile and faint, whispered: not yet.

Now, standing once again in that same place, the memory resurfaced with startling clarity. A wave of sadness washed over her, but this time, it didn’t drag her down. Instead, she steadied herself with a deep breath and walked to her usual spot beneath one of the rooftop lamps.

She sat down on the cold concrete floor, crossing her legs and laying her journal across her lap. Flipping it open to a blank page, she picked up her pen and began to write. Her fingers moved automatically, almost like they were tracing the thoughts forming in her heart. The poem she wrote was short, but it carried the weight of everything she had felt that day.

Once she finished, Kana read over her words and felt something unexpected—satisfaction.

But before she could close the journal, a familiar voice echoed in her mind.

Jane.

"You should post your poems on your Twibbler page."

Kana hesitated, her eyes drifting toward her phone.

She flipped through her past entries, reviewing poems she had written weeks ago—some sad, some wistful, and others simply honest expressions of how she had felt in the moment. They were raw and vulnerable. And that made them terrifying to share.

Still, Jane's encouragement wasn’t the only thing she remembered.

Kennedy’s words from a few days ago floated back to her as well:

"If you’re scared of being forgotten… then leave a mark. A good one. Here, or online. Give people a reason to remember you when your time comes."

Kana closed her eyes and placed a hand over her chest, feeling the uneven beat of her heart—a quiet reminder of how fragile time was.

She opened the Twibbler app.

Her account: Lonelygirl4556.

Only ten followers. Most strangers who never interacted.

But tonight felt different.

With quiet resolve, she typed out the poem she’d just written. Her thumbs hovered, checking spelling, format, wording.

Her hands trembled. She hesitated.

Then whispered to herself:

Kana: Well, here goes nothing.

With a shaky breath, she pressed “post.”

She stared at the screen, watching it refresh—waiting for something.

Fifteen minutes passed. Nothing.

No likes. No comments.

Doubt crept in like fog.

Kana: Maybe posting was a mistake?

Her thumb hovered over delete.

Jane’s voice echoed in her mind.

“You know it takes time and consistency to get there.”

Kana sighed, lowering her hand.

Kana: Maybe I’ll wait until tomorrow before deciding.

She locked her phone, rose from the cold rooftop floor, and stretched. Her body ached, but her spirit felt lighter. It was past midnight—Jane would scold her if she knew.

Time to go back

*****

Usually, Kana was woken by the soft footsteps of a nurse entering her room and the rustle of curtains being drawn open. But not today.

Today, it was something else entirely.

Her phone.

A persistent buzzing filled the room.

Kana: (groaning) Ughhhh... What's that noise?!

Grumbling, she pulled the blanket over her head but quickly reached for her phone to silence it. She unlocked the screen, intending to mute the app.

Then she froze.

Her notifications were flooded with alerts from Twibbler.

Kana blinked at the screen in confusion.

Kana: What the…?