When I was twenty-five years old, it came to my attention that I had never had a real girlfriend. At the time, I was in a long-distance relationship with someone I had never met—and never would—because she was halfway across the world, and neither of us were bold enough to change that.
I grew up in church, so by the time I was old enough to be curious about girls, I already knew where not to put my hands or lips. That kind of physical exploration, they said, was special and should be saved for marriage. I tried to be good. I didn’t want to break the rules, so instead, I turned to the internet to understand myself. Since my church youth group, I’d been through rounds of dating sims, VR girlfriends, chatroom crushes, and AI companionships. This way, no one could accuse me of putting my hands here or my lips there. All I used was my mind.
Some day, my friend Dan asked me to meet him at the park. We spent half the time trying to pick a place to hang out before stumbling into some cheap bar that had free buffets on Saturdays. I agreed to come because free food was still free food, no matter how much I wanted to stay home.
Now, I sat in front of him, my phone on the table, a half-empty root beer bottle next to it. Dan gave me a half-smile, the kind that meant he was about to say something I wouldn’t like.
“Listen, James, no one wanted to be the one to tell you this…”
“Okay…”
“It’s only because I care about you.”
“Huh…”
“You haven’t been outside in days. We’re all worried. Every time someone tries to reach you, you just cancel or disappear.”
I pressed my elbow against my phone, waiting for the vibration, the soft ding that meant Cindy was checking in. A late good morning. A picture of her outfit. A voice message where she would mumble half the words out. The things that made me feel present.
Dan sighed. “Look at you, man. You’ve got this weird, scraggly beard. Your skin’s breaking out. Some guy at work said you smell like you haven’t showered in years.”
“Is this why you brought me here? You think greasy fries will get my life together?”
“I brought you here to talk.”
My phone vibrated again. Then again.
I picked it up. Paragraphs from Cindy. Her words filled the screen, urgent, needing a response.
Cindy: God, the snow’s coming down so hard. I can’t even see the road. I just want to be home already.
Cindy: Call me? Distract me?
Cindy: What would you do if you were here?
I have to go.
I stood up, phone in hand, leaving the bottle of root beer and my friend behind with the bill.
Outside, the air was thick, humid. Sweat gathered at the back of my neck as I walked home. Cindy was complaining about the cold, the way her fingers went numb gripping the steering wheel. I couldn’t relate. I had to stick to the shade or risk burning. I’d never seen snow. The coldest air I’d felt probably came from an AC unit.
We talked until she passed out, and then it was just me, sinking into my bed, staring at the long mirror in front of me. I’d wait for Cindy to wake up so we could talk throughout the day, until it came time for our nightly FaceTime call. She’d ask about my day, and I’d tell her about all the weird people I had to work with: the two girls who dyed their hair unnatural colors and did nothing but gossip the whole shift; Ralph—who, to this day, I don’t know how he got the job, because all he did was force himself to burp or find some way to be disgusting, like blowing his nose into his hand before getting tissues, or how he’d always pick his ass then smell his hand. And then there was my best friend Dan, though I never told her what he said about our relationship. Just that he was there.
She’d tell me all the plans she had. Cindy was miserable at her job—working the evening shift at a gas station—but she needed the money to pay off her tuition and chase her dream of becoming an engineer. She even talked about how many kids she might want someday—And even though I’d been terrified to meet her, I still fell asleep dreaming that maybe, somehow, her plans would lead us toward each other—in exactly the way I was afraid they would.
***
When I finally woke up, I glanced at the clock. Noon.
I grabbed my phone to check on Cindy—she should be getting home from her work shift by now.
I unlocked the screen.
Nothing.
I sat up, brushing my hair back with my fingers, and opened our chat. Maybe the message just didn’t go through. Any second now, she’d send me a good morning and a heart emoji, just like always.
Still nothing.
I set my phone down on the coffee table beside me, more carefully than I needed to. Her message must not have gone through.
The rest of the day I spent at work in one of the government buildings. Today was professional development day, which is basically just a free day to sign up for random things like game sessions of Werewolf or Zumba. It was nice to get a break from filing IQA reports and verifying passports. Today was about Cindy.
She’d been acting weird—but maybe I could fix that. Maybe I’d worded a text too strangely and accidentally offended her, and she didn’t want to say anything because she’s passive and hates confrontation. Or maybe I rambled too much on FaceTime last night and she needed space from one of my weird bursts.
Alright, Cindy. I’ll give you twenty minutes.
I got up from my chair and walked to the bathroom. Then, to waste the remaining fifteen minutes, I paced up and down the hallway, peeking into one of the usually-empty rooms and catching my buddy Dan wearing bright green and orange, struggling to follow a breakdance routine.
I checked my phone again—it had been twenty-one minutes. Okay, one extra. She must have responded by now.
I rushed back to my desk and pressed on the screen to see my Notification Center.
Nothing.
This can’t be right. Must be some kind of glitch. Or maybe her Wi-Fi’s down.
I scrolled up and opened our chat directly.
Still nothing.
Something was wrong. She never took this long. Maybe she was hurt, or sick, and I couldn’t do anything to help her. But if she could just send me one message—even just one—I’d find a way to comfort her somehow.
I opened my Amazon account. I’d given Cindy the password a while ago. My card was already linked, so she could buy whatever she needed. Her last purchase was a banana slicer and a pack of Styrofoam unicorn horns… five days ago.
Next, I checked all her socials. On Instagram, I saw a new photo: a cat curled up in her lap. I couldn’t tell if it was Lily, Daniel, or Larry. Her mom absolutely loved pets, and Cindy was definitely closer to them than to her own sister. She’d posted it five minutes ago, on her main account.
So now I know.
She had no excuse.
I rushed back to our messages and finally typed a text.
James: Hi Cindy, just making sure you’re okay. I saw your Instagram post and wanted to check in to make sure everything’s good.
Then, finally, bubbles. The thing I’d been waiting for most. They appeared, disappeared, reappeared, and disappeared again, until, finally…
Cindy: Hi James. Sorry about this. I don’t know how I missed this!
I quickly texted her back.
James: Cindy, hi. I missed you. How are you doing?
I stared intensely at my phone, waiting for her to answer my question. I’d responded to her message ten seconds after she sent it, but still…nothing. No bubbles. No text. I placed my phone back down on my desk and decided to check on Dan, see if he’d improved his dance moves. To my surprise, he hadn’t.
I checked my Apple Watch—nearly half an hour had passed. I went back to my phone. Still nothing from Cindy.
James: Hi Cindy, are you sure everything’s okay?
I spent the rest of development day hunched over my desk, hovering over my phone, waiting for it to light up with a message from my favorite person. That night, Cindy still hadn’t replied. Neither the next day, nor the night after.
So, I decided to message her first.
James:
Hi Cindy,
I don’t know what happened. Honestly, I’ve been sitting here for days trying to figure out where things went wrong. I feel like something shifted, but I can’t pinpoint when.
I’m sorry if I text you too much. But you should know it’s only because I care. You mean more to me than anyone else, and maybe I’ve become too dependent on you to keep me from feeling lonely.
I just want to hear from you. I just want you to tell me that everything is okay. I know we’re not perfect, but I can’t shake the feeling that something went wrong.
I put my phone down and took a breath. That was one of the longest messages I’d ever sent. I poured my heart out, and all I needed to know was that she felt the same.
After a few minutes, I picked my phone back up to see if she had responded. But my message didn’t go through. Why didn’t it say “Delivered” anymore? I tried calling her, maybe it’d be a more authentic way to express my feelings, but I was just left with voicemail.
Frustrated, I swiped up on my phone and went back to Instagram. I had to triple-check if it was her account because all I could see was that she had no posts. But it didn’t make any sense, there was just the one with her cat, the earlier one with her baking cookies, the one where she was at the gym with her cousin, the one where she and the same cousin were hanging outside her house, and the one where she and the same cousin were at a garden, with him helping her feed the koi fish. It was all gone.
She blocked me.
The next day, I came into work and sat at my desk, staring at the same IQA file. The last seats taken in the office were the ones next to me.
Dan knocked twice on the side of my cubicle wall before leaning in, holding a Styrofoam cup.
“Morning,” Dan said, then paused. “Well… it’s still technically morning.”
I didn’t respond. I just nodded once and looked back at the screen, pretending to scroll.
Dan walked in anyway, pulling up the extra chair, slouching like he had nowhere better to be. “You didn’t respond to my messages last night.”
“Was tired.”
“Right.”
Dan leaned forward, clasping his hands. “You wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
“You wanna pretend she didn’t block you?”
My hand twitched near my mouse. I clenched it instead.
“She posted a story this morning,” Dan said gently. “Something about brunch with her friends. She didn’t even look upset.”
I didn’t say anything. Just sat there, staring at the screen.
“I’ll take over your work for today,” Dan said, deciding to give me some space. “But you can’t sit here forever.”
I didn’t look up. All I could do was nod. Dan hovered a second longer before walking away.
I stared at my phone again. I turned it over in my palm, as if it might give me a different answer from another angle. Then, slowly, I opened the top drawer of my desk, placed the phone inside, and shut it with a soft click.
I didn’t lock it.
But I didn’t reach for it again.
*****
Jada Polard is an emerging writer about to begin her senior year as a creative writing student.
