Novels by Ogieva Gift

I woke up on Friday with my phone already buzzing against the mattress. For a second, still half caught in sleep, I thought it might be Henry, and my chest did that stupid thing before I remembered better. It wasn't Henry. It was a message from the stylist he had mentioned, a woman named Rosa, asking to confirm my measurements for Saturday and letting me know she already booked three gown options.I typed back a short reply and set the phone down on my chest, staring up at the ceiling above me. Its timorrow where I sit beside Henry on a red carpet in a dress some stranger had chosen for me, smiling for cameras while in my phone is a folder of things that could unmake his entire career, and yet Henry is not beside me.I got up because staying in bed only gave the thoughts more room to grow. I made coffee and stood at the kitchen counter drinking it slowly, watching the light change outside the window. For a moment I imagined a version of this week where none of it was happening. A vers

The file took a moment to load. I watched the progress bar move slowly across the screen, my thumb hovering over the play button like I wasn't sure I actually wanted to press it. Part of me wanted to close the app and pretend I hadn't seen the message at all. Part of me — the part that had been awake at midnight typing angry words into an anonymous account — pressed play.It was a voice note. Thirty-eight seconds long.The first thing I heard was background noise. It was the kind of noise heard in a hallway or a dressing room, muffled voices and the faint sound of music from somewhere further away. Then Henry's voice came through clearly, and my whole body went still.“I don't care what she thinks. I don't care what any of them think.” His voice was low and tight, like he was trying not to raise it. "Do what I said and stop bringing her name into things that have nothing to do with her."There was a pause before I heard someone else's voice too. It was muffled to make out the words. T

The message request was still open on my screen when I finally accepted it. I don't know why I hesitated. Maybe because the other two comments had already told me exactly what most people thought of what I was doing, and I wasn't sure I had the emotional capacity to read another insult directly in my DM. But the comment felt a bit different from the hostility in the other comments. I thought about how the person just wanted a direct request to respond to my post privately, but I also worried about being insulted or verbally attacked in the inbox.I opened it and saw the message: “hi!” with a small grey text at the top that read: you accepted a message request from @pinkpen0. I stared at it for a moment, waiting to see if the other person would type. A few minutes passed, but still nothing. I left there to go prepare for work. When I got ready for work, I still saw no response. I was almost late for work, so I left the house. By the time I got home, the person had still not sent me a f

As my account was taking time to verify, I stood up and paced aggressively around the room. After some time, the account was finally verified. A sudden stillness came over me as I had just crossed a line I should never have. It was now asking for my username and profile picture. I stared at it for a while, then I sat on the floor and breathed.I glanced at the wall clock. It was past ten. The apartment was a mild disaster from my morning rush to work. The couch pillow was on the wrong side of the room, a magazine was hanging off the edge of the coffee table, and my work bag lay scattered on the floor. I had not eaten, but somehow I felt full.I finally stood up and sat in the chair in front of my laptop. The screen was already sleeping. I touched the touchpad to wake it. I stared at the screen for a little while, then I put in my username: henrybhater.For a moment, I sat still, my fingers raised and hovering over the keypad. Every word came out faster than I expected, like they had a

Chris was standing behind a couch in the living room. He was looking at the phone in his hand while holding a bag in the other hand. He was a compact, well-dressed man in his early forties who always looked like he was running fifteen minutes behind on six different things simultaneously. I could see sweat break out on his face. He had double eyelids, clear skin, and shiny eyes. He looked up when I walked in.“Oh… hi… Quinn. Good thing you're back.”I looked around the apartment, waiting to see Henry pop out from somewhere. Maybe he was in the room. “Hi, Chris”. I was about to go to the room to find Henry when Chris stopped me“Ermmm…can you please help me with something before you go inside?”I stared at him for a while. “What’s that?”He quickly rushed to open his phone to read out whatever was on it. I stared blankly at him. “Something is going to be delivered here tomorrow, but I won’t be able to come pick it up for Henry before the weekend. Please can you bring it along to the a

The apartment felt bigger at night when I was alone in it. I sat curled up on the couch with my laptop open, and a half-eaten bowl of noodles was already going cold beside me. I had found Henry's fan community page three weeks ago by accident and had been stalking it ever since. Thousands of people posting about a man I lived with, analysing his interviews, dissecting his expressions, writing long threads about how much they loved him.I scrolled slowly, without looking for anything in particular. Then I saw a photo. It was a selfie that was posted an hour ago by a fan account. Henry and a female singer named Aria West were sitting close together. His head was tilted slightly toward hers, their cheeks were so close to each other that they almost touched, and her hand was on his shoulder. Her hands were so small and smooth like a baby's hands.The comments on the photo were already flooded with writings from different delusional girls: @urgirl567: They have such amazing chemistry 🤭@