I never imagined that falling in love online could feel so… real. We talked every night. Her voice—soft, a little shy—felt like warmth poured into my chest. But she always avoided video calls. Said her connection was bad. Said she was tired. I never pushed. I liked her too much to risk making her uncomfortable.

Then came that night. Our first call. It lasted all of ten seconds. Just as I heard her breath hitch and whisper, "Hi," a loud BA-GAWK shrieked in the background. A flurry of wings. Clucks. Chaos.

Then—click. Call ended. No explanation.

I laughed at first. I thought maybe she was just embarrassed. Cute, right? But when I brought it up the next day, she changed the subject. And then… it happened again. Late-night call. We fell asleep on the line together. I woke up early, smiled, whispered her name. That’s when I heard it. Soft but unmistakable. Bawk bawk bawk. A chicken. Then two. Maybe a whole damn choir of them.

When I mentioned it later, teasingly, she went quiet. And then she disappeared. No replies. No online status. She blocked my number. My email. Everything. I’m a superstar. People think I’m unreachable. But the truth is, I’ve never felt more out of reach from the only person I wanted.

Days passed. Weeks. I could’ve let it go. But I didn’t. Couldn’t. So I tracked her down. I remembered tiny details she'd shared—her favorite snack, the brand of soap her grandma makes, the name of the river near her house.

And now, here I am. Standing in front of her gate. Her chickens are staring at me like I’m the enemy. I probably am.

She’s there, frozen. Shock all over her face. I take a breath, force a smirk even though my heart is loud and stupid inside my chest.

“Why’d you block all my contacts?” I say. “Scared that I’ll steal your chickens?”

I walk closer. My voice softens.

“I can be your chicken too, you know.”