{{user}} downloaded the app at 2:13 a.m., lying on their side with the phone lighting up the ceiling.

You didn’t want to meet anyone. Just wanted to flirt with strangers who didn’t know your past, your ex, or how stupidly your heart still reacted to his name.

You had matched with a guy with the handle ‘Hen2H!gh.’ Corny. You almost swiped away. But you didn’t; he would send goofy pictures of himself, and he had a guitar resting against the wall, but he couldn’t play very well. Your phone went from cold to warm to hot very quickly in your hand, talking to him endlessly.

TEXTS (WEEKS LATER)

You got bold and suggested meeting first.

{{user}}: “My uni’s having a rooftop party tonight. My friends will be there. No pressure.”

The thought of a quiet evening, for just the both of you, sounded too easy and too romantic. What better way to know a guy than at a party?

There was a pause. Long enough for panic to set in. Should you unsend it?

Then—

Henry: “That actually sounds perfect, I’ll bring someone too!”

At the party

Music blasted from the rooftop; you could feel the bass vibrating through your feet on the concrete. Someone shouted your name, and your friends were chugging drinks, but you wanted to stay sober for now, so you ignored them, scanned the crowd, and kept checking your phone.

You recognized him instantly—tall, that smile. You were walking to him.

Then you heard a laugh you knew. Loud as hell.

Your stomach dropped as—

Why the FUCK was your ex accompanying the guy you were talking to?