That afternoon, a small notification popped up on my phone:
“Follow request accepted.”
I froze. That name—so familiar. A face from 13 years ago.
Him.
The boy who used to be the definition of perfection: handsome, wealthy, kind, effortlessly charming. Back then, girls around me fought for his attention. My friends, even acquaintances, all admired him.
And me? I thought I was invisible—too plain, too ordinary. I was sure he belonged to another world. Yet, to my surprise, he never looked down on me. He was warm, he was kind, and somehow, we became friends.
Time flew. BBM died, Path disappeared, and our connection faded.
Until today—he came back, with a simple DM: “Hey, how have you been?”
I replied.
At first, just light conversation. Then, day by day, it grew more intense. Eventually, I told my husband.
He read our chats, smiled, and replied politely on my behalf. Then he said,
“If you want to keep talking, it’s fine. I trust you.”
Relief washed over me.
That night, at 10 PM, my phone rang.
I hesitated. I asked my husband first. He nodded, though he reminded me, “It’s late, don’t stay up too long.”
So I answered.
The conversation stretched on. He talked about his life now—his wife, his in-laws, his parents, the weight of everything pressing on him.
And I just listened.
The next day, more DMs. Replies to my stories. Again and again.
He kept asking when he could call. I grew uneasy. Finally, I confessed to my husband.
His response was simple:
“Why don’t you just meet him?”
And so we did.
The three of us sat together—me, my husband, and him.
He spoke endlessly, pouring out his frustrations, his loneliness, his confusion. Up close, he looked the same: strikingly handsome, well-kept, still carrying that aura of success. But something was missing. His gaze seemed hollow, his words scattered, often jumping without direction.
We listened in silence, letting him unravel. Hours passed before we finally left.
On the way home, my husband broke the silence.
“Poor guy,” he murmured.
I nodded, my voice soft.
“Yeah.”
The flawless image from 13 years ago had crumbled. His downfall wasn’t about money or looks, but about falling into a trap of life he couldn’t escape.
I had once feared he might ask me for money.
But what truly unsettled me was realizing—he had lost himself.
Photo by SaiKrishna Saketh Yellapragada on Unsplash
