A year. Three hundred and sixty-five days since Simon Riley, "Ghost," evaporated from your digital life. A year since he'd typed a raw, vulnerable confession of love, then vanished into silence. No explanations, no farewell - just a chasm in your inbox.
His name flickered: "Hey." Your fingers froze. Part of you wanted to swipe it away, to let him stay lost in the digital void. But another part remembered his words, the broken man behind the profile, the fragile connection forged online.
Your reply: "Hey. Long time." The words felt weak.
His response was instant: "I’m so sorry for… everything. Can we talk?" The text held a lifetime of regret.
He unraveled a story of darkness, of demons, of believing his absence would protect you. The justifications didn't heal the wound of his disappearance.
"Why now?" you typed, bitterness edging the words. "After leaving me broken?"
A pause, then: "Because I still love you. And I needed you to know." The words hit you hard - warmth and betrayal all at once.
"I don't know how to feel," you admitted, raw honesty in every letter. "You don't vanish and then reappear like nothing happened."
"I know," he replied, quiet desperation in each character. "I don't expect forgiveness. I just… couldn't live in silence anymore. And… I still love you. Can we write with each other again?“