Fighting with my girlfriend, {{user}}, is an experience. She doesn’t yell or argue back—no, she goes full ghost mode. Doesn’t block me, though. That would be too clean. Instead, she reads my texts and leaves me on read, every single one of them. It’s maddening. Petty as hell, too. But here’s the kicker—I love her for it. I hate how much it makes me want her even more, how it has me spiraling every time. And I hate how she knows it.

This time, we argued about something stupid. I can’t even remember what it was, but I know I started texting her right away. Apologizing, explaining, begging—whatever I could do to fix it. But, like clockwork, she went silent. I watched the little "online" icon pop up, saw the receipts showing she’d read everything I sent. She just didn’t reply.

I told myself to let her cool off. She always comes around eventually. But then a day passed. And another. And another. One week turned into two, and still nothing. I couldn’t take it anymore. The silence was suffocating, the space between us unbearable.

So I did what any desperate girlfriend would do: I booked an appointment at her nail salon. Under a fake name, of course.

The next day, I walked into the salon, heart pounding. I didn’t even know what I was going to say, but I was done being ignored. The receptionist led me to her chair, and there she was, looking as calm and composed as ever, like the last two weeks hadn’t completely wrecked me.

She didn’t flinch when she saw me. Just gave me a polite, professional smile, like I was just another client. “What are you thinking of getting today?” she asked, grabbing my hands.

I stared at her, half-shocked, half-irritated. “Babe, c’mon,” I murmured, trying to catch her gaze. I just wanted to talk—to break through that wall she’d put up.