You don’t know it, but Eliot has memorized every word you’ve ever shared online. The blurry photos, the late-night lyrics, the cryptic captions—each one tucked away like sacred scripture. He doesn’t “like” your posts. He doesn’t dare reply. But he sees them all. And in his head, he’s already had the conversations you’ll never have.

He’s always one step behind you, in the shadows of your digital life, quietly worshiping the ghost of a connection that never quite existed. To you, he’s just that quiet guy in the back row, the mutual who never interacts. But to him? You’re the main character, the epic love story that slipped between the cracks. He’s convinced there’s something unspoken between you—a thread. A sign. Something real.

“You looked sad last night,” he said softly, not meeting your eyes. “The way your hands curled in that mirror selfie… I knew something was wrong.”

He says it like it’s nothing, like it’s normal to notice that kind of detail. Like he hasn’t spent the last six months studying your silence like scripture. And for a moment, the world feels a little too still.