Expanded Version with EJ's Post-College Departure
Some heartbreaks push you inward—deep into yourself, into silence, into corners where no one can follow.
After Christian, I didn't want the real world anymore.
Not the one where people lied so easily with smiles, or where families lived in separate homes pretending to be whole. Not the world where women like Evelyn laughed at you and men like Christian held your hand with a wedding ring hiding in their back pocket.
So, I disappeared—online.
Flashback: Digital Escapes
It started with Yuna and Mel.
We weren't close at first. Just two girls I'd met through Christian's biker circle—sweet, sarcastic, and always a little too observant. They were dating Christian's friends—guys who were cool and loyal, but completely unaware of the lie I was drowning in.
When the truth about Christian came out, I thought they'd judge me. Blame me. Leave me.
But they didn't.
Instead, Yuna messaged me one night: "If you ever want to scream into a void without being judged, we have a group chat just for that."
And that's how I ended up in "The Other Side"—a private online chatroom where life made a little more sense. Anonymous names. Late-night rants. Unfiltered truths. The kind of friendship that blooms in the shadows when no one expects you to be whole.
And then there was Jeth.
His username was Shinichi Kudou, and his profile photo was just a blurred moon. He had a dry wit that wrapped around my anxiety like a worn hoodie. Always typing in lowercase, always sending songs that somehow said the things I couldn't.
We started private chats. First just after midnight, then late into dawn.
He asked me once why I never talked about my real best friend. I paused before typing.
Because EJ was gone.
The Space EJ Left Behind
After college, EJ joined the Marines.
He said it was always a calling he couldn't ignore. Something about structure, honor, serving something bigger than himself. Maybe it was also a way to outrun the silence between us, the unfinished ache of a kiss he never gave and I never asked for.
When he left, we messaged at first.
Short updates. Emojis. The occasional "Stay safe."
But over time, his replies grew delayed. Then sparse. Then quiet.
It wasn't anger. Or bitterness. It was simply distance—the kind that can't be bridged by Wi-Fi or loyalty alone.
And so I didn't talk about him much.
Because even mentioning his name felt like scraping a scar that wasn't done healing.
That's why Jeth mattered so much.
Because in a season where EJ was away serving the country, and Christian had left me a ruin, Jeth made me feel seen—without needing to be touched.
He listened.
He laughed.
He stayed.
The Dilemma of Digital Love
He asked to meet me once.
We'd been talking for six months already. I knew the sound of his typing. The way he said "you" like it was a poem. The way he made even silence feel like company.
I wanted to say yes.
But I also feared reality.
What if we meet and the magic disappears?14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkcQX4Pp7YJ
What if I don't live up to the version of myself I've crafted through screens?
So I said: "Not yet."
And he replied, "no rush. I like you here too."
Meanwhile
EJ was somewhere across the ocean, wearing a uniform I never saw in person.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2CfYJoJOBM
Christian was a ghost I deleted but still dreamed about.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtQGp3hSM4b
And Jeth...14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡANpIXP08Th
Jeth was the closest thing to emotional safety I'd had in a long time.
But I knew deep down:14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7RDsJ8D8UL
I couldn't live inside a screen forever.
And eventually, the real world—the messy, painful, wonderful real world—would come knocking again.
14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡP5DGIBdV1U
