password theif

The next day dawned bright, the remnants of the storm washed away, the sky a clear, pale blue. I was back to my usual routine, the familiar rhythm of my days a comforting counterpoint to the storm that had raged within me the previous night.

I headed to the burger shop, my part-time job a source of both income and stability. I had been working there since I finished high school, saving up for college, juggling my two jobs with a fierce determination. I worked evenings at the supermarket, mornings at the burger shop, a tireless bee flitting between two hives.

Emily, meanwhile, was perpetually married to her desktop, lost in the digital world of online games. We hung out occasionally, or met for a quick lunch, but most of our time was spent communicating through video calls, a lifeline connecting us across the digital divide. She'd pop by the burger shop sometimes, surprising me during my break, and we'd chat for a few minutes, sharing snippets of our lives, our laughter echoing through the busy kitchen.

Even with my tight schedule, I still found time to stalk Chris. "You always have time for the ones you love," they say. And I guess, in a twisted way, it was true. My obsession with him, though unhealthy, was a relentless force that consumed my thoughts, even in the midst of my busy life.

That evening, I retired to my room as usual, my dad already fast asleep. He was a creature of habit, his days predictable, his nights quiet. I sat down at my computer, ready to relax, to connect with the world, to escape into the virtual realm.

But something was wrong. The familiar screen that usually greeted me, the home page of my browser, was replaced with a message I didn't recognize: "You're currently logged out."

My heart skipped a beat. "How is that possible?" I thought, a wave of confusion washing over me. "I was the only one using the WiFi. No one else can connect without my permission. Plus, only I know the password." I tried the password again and it typed your password was changed 1 hour ago.

A sense of unease settled over me, a prickling sensation on the back of my neck. I tried to log back in, but the message remained the same.

"I was logged out of my own WiFi," I muttered, a wave of frustration washing over me. "I can't connect."

The screen remained stubbornly blank, a mocking reminder of my predicament. I couldn't believe this was happening. My privacy, my digital haven, had been violated. And the culprit, I suspected, was right across the street.

Driven by a mixture of anger and curiosity, I popped my head out of my window, my eyes scanning the grounds of the mansion across the street. The night was quiet, the only sound the gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl. But even in the darkness, my eyes were drawn to a figure seated on a bench, illuminated by the soft glow of a laptop screen.

I leaned out further, straining to see what was on the screen. The figure seemed to be engrossed in something, oblivious to my gaze. I squinted, trying to make out the details. And then, I saw it. A laptop, its lid open, the screen glowing faintly, its name clearly visible: "Wizard."

My heart pounded in my chest. Wizard. That was the same name Chris used on his online accounts, the same name I had found during my online stalking. Could it be? Was he the one using my WiFi?

Driven by a mix of suspicion and determination, I followed the trail of the laptop's glow. I saw a figure, his back to me, his head bent over the screen, his fingers moving rhythmically across the keyboard. I knew it was him. I could recognize his broad shoulders, his tousled hair, his familiar silhouette.

The figure turned to look at me. And my assumptions were right, it was Chris.

"Did you change my password?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, a tremor of anger running through it. "If yes, how?"

He stood up from the bench, his figure silhouetted against the pale glow of the moon. He walked towards my window, his gaze fixed on me, his eyes reflecting the light of his laptop screen.

"Do you think I did it?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Yes," I replied, my voice firm, my heart pounding in my chest. "I know it was you."

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to echo through the quiet night.

"Yeah, I changed it," he said, his voice nonchalant. "And I was borrowing it. I intend to change it back."

My anger flared, a hot wave of indignation washing over me. "How dare you?" I snapped, my voice sharp. "You have no right to go through my personal things. I don't care how you did it, but change it back now."

He leaned against the windowsill, his face illuminated by the moonlight, his eyes shimmering with a mixture of amusement and challenge.

"I needed to log in," he said, his voice a low murmur. "And your password was funny and weird, you know? You used my name as your WiFi password. So I changed it. I mean, you literally used my name without my permission."

My anger exploded. "F*ck you, Chris," I shouted, my voice laced with fury. "You have no right to go through my personal things. Leave here this instance and change the password back. I don't care how you did it, but change it back now."

I turned away, my hands shaking, my anger threatening to consume me. I reached for the window, my fingers grasping the handle, my intention to shut him out, to silence him, to shut down the world he was intruding on.

"I thought about what you said the other day," he said, his voice a quiet murmur, a strange mixture of apology and audacity. "I have a party tomorrow night. Will you come? I'll text you the address."

His voice was a whisper, but it was a whisper that cut through the fury that raged within me. I froze, my hand hovering over the window handle, my anger replaced with a flicker of surprise, a glimmer of curiosity.

He paused, waiting for my response, his eyes locked on mine, his presence both intrusive and irresistible.

I slammed the window shut, the sound echoing through the night, cutting off his words, silencing his invitation.

But I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of anticipation. A party. An invitation. A chance to see him again, to get closer to him, to understand him, to confront him, to get back at him.