I believe in eternal love.
I believe in love that stretches across lifetimes, that echoes even when the body is gone.
I just don't believe it's mine. Never have.
So when his message popped up—
"Babe, do you think we should meet and have dinner tomorrow?"
—I blinked.
Then stared.
Then, very eloquently, thought: OMG. This is real.
My phone screen glowed in the dark, a small square of light in my hand. For a second, I wasn't sure if I was hallucinating from too much caffeine, or if the universe had just played its favorite trick on me: dangling what I wanted, then waiting to see if I'd reach out and grab it.
***
The Beginning
We first met six years ago.
Well—not met, not really. More like, stumbled across each other on this old-school forum for platonic connections. The kind of site that doesn't even exist anymore. Back then, the internet still felt raw. Less curated. Less desperate for attention.
I was just looking for voices. Conversations. Maybe the comfort of knowing someone, somewhere, was typing their thoughts into the same void I was staring into.
That's how Kaelen and I found each other.
We became pen pals. Digital ones. Emails at first—long rambling paragraphs, sometimes more like diary entries than letters. Then voice notes. Random middle-of-the-night rants about life, work, or the weather when neither of us could sleep.
Nothing romantic. No drama. Just two people who never ran out of things to say.
I never doubted he was real. Which is funny, because you're supposed to be careful online. But I think I trusted him because I'd already met good people on that site—some of them are still friends today. Or maybe it was just timing. Or gut instinct. Either way, I never questioned him. Not once.
[***]
Fast Forward
Six years later, I was single. A little bruised, but functional. My ex had ghosted emotionally long before the breakup. By the time he finally said, "I don't think I ever saw you as a lover," I was already halfway out the door.
Lovely, right?
But I'd seen it coming. I always do.
There's this little voice in me that whispers:
It won't last.
So when things fell apart, I didn't shatter. I just… folded the memory into a box and shoved it onto the shelf with the others.
And then, out of nowhere, Kaelen messaged me.
He told me he was single too. Said he hadn't been with a woman in over a year.
To which I—being me—typed back,
We've never even met. We don't know each other."
He disagreed immediately.
What are you talking about? We've known each other for six years. I know you."
And then—God help me—he proved it.
He reminded me of things I'd said years ago, words I'd forgotten I'd even typed. Quoted lines from our old convos like he'd highlighted them in his mind. Sent screenshots of messages I didn't even remember writing.
He even pulled out photos I'd sent him—ones I couldn't believe I'd ever shared so casually.
One of them made me pause. It was me in front of a mirror—crop top, mini shorts. Not posed, not careful, just me in a moment.
This one's my favorite," he said.
And I felt… seen.
Or maybe just caught off guard.
Or maybe I'm just too easily swayed.
Either way, I said yes.
[***]
Sayang
The next morning, my phone buzzed with a new message.
Good morning, sayang."
Sayang. A simple endearment, soft, almost playful. The kind of word you don't throw at just anyone.
I stared at it for too long.
I'm not warm by default. Most people think I'm cold. Quiet. Sharp. Detached.
They're not wrong.
I speak for a living, but I live for silence.
So "sayang" should have been too much for me. But I didn't hate it.
In fact… I smiled.
I typed back,
Good morning, Kaelen."
And that's how it started.
[***]
The Slide
A few months of digital affection followed.
Voice notes laced with laughter. Late-night calls that stretched until my eyelids burned. Random work memes dropped in the middle of stressful days.
It was steady, not rushed. Like two people circling the edges of something bigger, waiting to see if the other would step closer first.
Until one night, he just dropped it.
Babe, do you think we should meet and have dinner tomorrow?"
Casual. As if it was the most natural thing in the world.
But I remember staring at my phone, pulse thudding in my throat. Because that single line—one sentence, nine words—was the hinge.
The moment the story turned.
I didn't realize it then, but that message would change everything.