The glow of the smartphone screen used to be Dee’s only sanctuary. For years, it was her ritual: wake up, refresh Ky’s profile, and memorize the lines of a life she wasn’t a part of. She knew his favorite coffee shop from a tagged photo and his sense of humor from a witty caption. To him, she was just a number in a follower count. To her, he was a silent prayer she repeated every night.
But tonight, the room was dark, and the phone stayed face down on the nightstand.
Dee sat by the window, watching the streetlights flicker as the weight of "waiting for a maybe" settled into a physical ache. What had started as a spark—a shared interest in an obscure indie film—had mutated into something heavy and consuming. She was tired, not of Ky himself, but of the version of herself that existed only in the shadows of his digital life.
She realized she had built an entire cathedral of love for a man who didn't even know her name. It wasn't that Ky was a bad person; he was simply a ghost she had invited to live in her head. Through months that became years, she spent her nights bargaining with the universe. She would whisper into the dark, ''Just let our paths cross—give me a sign that this isn't one-sided madness.'"
But the sign never came. Instead, she found herself trapped in a cycle of checking his "active" status, her heart sinking whenever the green dot vanished. She wondered if he was talking to someone who actually knew the sound of his laugh, while she remained on the outside.
Ultimately, an icy realization took hold: she was decorating a room in a house she didn't own. Exhausted from the labor of loving a ghost, she finally saw the truth—she had been a devoted architect for a man who was never really there.
She picked up her journal and wrote the words that had been simmering in her soul:
“I’ve stopped mentioning your name to God.”
It felt like a confession. It wasn't an act of anger or a dramatic flare-up of ego. It was a gentle, necessary surrender.
She stopped asking for a "sign" from Ky.
She started asking for peace for herself.
To become a person who didn't need a stranger’s validation to feel whole.
She realized that every minute spent decoding his cryptic posts was a minute she wasn't investing in her own dreams. She was done being a spectator in someone else’s story while her own pages remained blank.
Dee felt a strange, light sensation in her chest. For the first time in years, she didn't feel the itch to check if he’d posted a new story. The "what ifs" that used to scream in the middle of the night were now just faint whispers, easily ignored.
She wasn't closing her heart to love; she was just changing the locks. She was preparing her heart—not for a digital crush, but for a real, tangible connection. She was making room for someone who would look at her, not a screen.
As she closed her journal, Dee smiled. She had finally stopped praying for a "him" and started praying for herself.
She was finally right for the right person: herself.
2087
stormborns
yousharknotpass
annaxmalina
discoholicmusic