Chapter 1
So I sent her the link to “Seen in Cairo.”
She blocked me. Again.
Shocking development, truly.
I sat there looking at the same dead error message I’ve seen too many times and just laughed under my breath. Of course she did. Why would this time be different? I told myself I’m done sending her stuff. I don’t want to keep poking the bear. She’s made it pretty clear she wants me gone. But then the other half of my brain goes, “Yeah but what if I just keep writing and leave it somewhere she can trip over it one day?” Classic idiot logic.
I actually love “Seen in Cairo.” Like, embarrassingly so. I’ve read it more times than I want to admit. It’s the closest I’ve come to saying sorry and still being filthy about it at the same time. The whole thing is basically me daydreaming a version of events where I finally get to fix the mess in person. It’s soft and nasty and a little desperate, which tracks, because that’s exactly what I am.
Then the fun new thought showed up.
What if she never read a single word?
What if every story, every long-ass confession, every carefully written fantasy just sat there collecting digital dust while she hit block on pure reflex? That one actually stung. Rejection at least means the words landed. This version means I’ve been having a full emotional relationship with a brick wall and calling it fate.
Two months later and she’s still living rent-free in my head. I invented her face before I ever saw a photo, and then the real one matched so perfectly it felt personal. How the fuck do you move on from a coincidence that precise? Asking for a friend.
