Chapter 2: Unexpected Meeting

In a moment of utter surprise, we both let out a loud, extended scream in perfect harmony.

"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice edged with confusion and fear.

"You're the one in my house! Who are you?" the other Charlotte snapped defensively.

"Okay, fine, I'm Charlotte," I admitted, still struggling to comprehend the bizarre situation.

"I am also Charlotte," she replied, her tone mirroring my own disbelief.

"We both have the same name now? You've got to be kidding!" I exclaimed, my disbelief intense.

"The sooner you go back to your home, the more convenient it would be for both of us!" she said, her frustration evident.

"But I don't know how to go home!" I protested, my voice rising in panic.

"The same way you came here!" she snapped, a hint of frustration in her voice.

"SO YOU'RE SAYING I SHOULD GO BACK TO SLEEP!?" I shouted, my frustration reaching a breaking point.

"You should – wait, WHAT?!" she stammered, clearly taken aback by my outburst.

I recounted the entire bewildering story of the previous night, hoping for some rational explanation. She suggested I go back to sleep, but that proved useless.

"Well, it seems we can't send you back," she said, her voice softening with sympathy.

"Then I guess I'll just move out," I said, trying to assert control over the situation.

"WAIT!!" she interrupted, a note of desperation in her voice. "You can stay here if you want. I'm... living alone anyway."

"Are you completely fine with that?" I asked cautiously, my skepticism evident.

"Yeah," she replied hesitantly.

"I need to think about it," I said, my mind swirling with uncertainty.

In the days that followed, my thoughts were consumed by this predicament. Should I stay? It wasn't that the other version of me and I weren't getting along. It was just that...

"Your mother is all alone? Where is your father?" she asked, her curiosity laced with sympathy.

"He died when I was like a year old. I don't even know how he looks. My mother is everything to me. I can't just leave her and stay here," I explained, my voice tinged with sadness.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, but given our current situation, you don't really have a choice, do you? You can still talk to her every day, and I know it won't be enough, but for now, that's all I can offer," she said, her words gentle and understanding.

"Hmm," I murmured, my mind conflicted.

"I'll leave you alone for a while," she said, sensing my need for space.

In a moment of vivid recollection, my mind traveled back to a childhood memory:

"Mommy! Where are you?" I called out, excited to show her my latest drawing.

But I heard her voice, marked with sorrow, coming from the bedroom. I crept closer, unnoticed, and overheard her heartbreaking words:

"Why did you have to leave us? Do you have any idea how hard it is? I would rather die than live like this!"

Tears welled up in my eyes. My whole life, I had believed my father was dead, but now I realized he had abandoned us. Why? What had we done wrong?

Feeling overwhelmed, I ran, locked myself in the bathroom, and cried until there were no tears left.

"Why did you have to do this, father?" I whispered to myself, a question that echoed with unresolved pain.

From that day forward, I found myself living with my 2.0 version. She was kind and understanding, and while we were not identical in every aspect, our shared experiences bridged the differences. She helped me find a job and adjust to my new surroundings, making the transition easier.