I’ve always had bad allergies. Dust, pollen, cat hair — you name it. I sneeze constantly. I thought it was just a nuisance.
Until the day I sneezed on the subway.
A woman across from me, who had been scrolling on her phone without noticing me at all, suddenly looked up. Her eyes locked on mine. And then she smiled. No — not just smiled. She beamed.
When I got off at my stop, she followed me. “Hey,” she said breathlessly. “I think… I think I love you.”
I laughed nervously and walked away. Weird. Creepy. Probably coincidence.
But the next day it happened again.
I sneezed at the grocery store. A man three aisles over suddenly abandoned his cart, ran up to me, and grabbed my arm. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, eyes wide, desperate.
By the end of the week, I couldn’t ignore it. Every sneeze was followed by someone — anyone — falling hopelessly, madly in love with me.
The cashier at the gas station. The mailman. A crossing guard.
And they weren’t subtle. They followed me, wrote me notes, left flowers on my doorstep. One woman sang outside my window for hours, her voice hoarse, until the cops dragged her away.
It got dangerous fast.
I sneezed at the bank. The teller vaulted over the counter to hold my hand. Another time, I sneezed in traffic, and a man abandoned his moving car in the middle of the road just to declare his devotion.
I stopped leaving the house.
But sneezes can’t be controlled. One night, I sneezed while watching TV. Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: “I don’t know why, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”
It wasn’t just people nearby anymore.
The love spread wider. Online. Across the city. Strangers found me. People camped outside my apartment.
I tried wearing a mask. Holding in the sneezes. But every time one escaped, chaos followed.
Last week, I sneezed three times in a row. By morning, I had over 200 love letters taped to my door.
And then it escalated.
I sneezed once — just once — and the next day, a headline appeared online: “Senator Abruptly Resigns, Says They’re in Love.”
That’s when I realized this wasn’t random. This wasn’t chance. My sneezes weren’t just causing crushes. They were rewriting people’s lives.
Now I live in fear of spring. One sneeze could start a riot. One allergy flare-up could collapse the world order.
I’ve stopped opening my windows. I’ve stopped going outside. I sleep with tissues stuffed up my nose just in case.
Because if I sneeze one more time, I don’t know who I’ll ruin next.
And last night, I woke up to someone standing in my living room.
Eyes glassy. Smile too wide.
“I’ve been waiting for you to sneeze again,” she whispered.
