It might be related to some of the people in this app I heard few of stories and plus it's also dedicated to song 'You Get Me So High' by neighborhood
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There are people you meet only once.
And then there are people you spend years trying to find again.
This is the story of two strangers who met in a place where nobody had to be who they were.
It was past midnight when she first found him.
The world outside her window was asleep, but the little blue light of her phone kept her company.
She opened a random chat room.
His message was the first thing she saw.
Nothing important.
Nothing poetic.
Just a stupid question about whether people really fell in love with strangers.
She answered.
He replied.
And somehow, neither of them left.
They spoke until the night became morning.
The next night, they returned.
Then the next.
Soon, midnight belonged to them.
They never exchanged photographs.
Never spoke their real names.
They decided that names were unnecessary when two people could recognize each other by the way they wrote.
So they made new names.
New lives.
New versions of themselves.
She became someone braver.
He became someone softer.
They told each other stories they could never have told anyone else.
She told him about the things that frightened her.
He told her about the dreams he was too embarrassed to admit he had.
When she was sad, he stayed awake.
When he was lonely, she listened.
They watched the sunrise from opposite sides of the world.
They laughed at jokes neither of them would remember the next morning.
Sometimes they said nothing at all.
They simply remained online together.
And somehow, silence became another language.
She began waiting for the little green light beside his name.
He began measuring his days by whether she appeared.
Neither said it first.
Neither needed to.
They knew.
Love had found them quietly.
Not with flowers.
Not with music.
Not beneath a sky full of stars.
It had arrived as a notification.
And perhaps that made it even more dangerous.
Because neither of them knew what the other truly looked like.
They loved voices made of sentences.
They loved habits.
They loved the little pauses between replies.
They loved the person on the other side of the screen.
Or at least, they thought they did.
Then one evening, she discovered the lie.
It wasn't something dramatic.
There was no confession.
No villain.
No cruel explanation.
Just one small piece of information that didn't fit.
Then another.
Then another.
Until the person she thought she knew began to disappear behind everything he had hidden.
She asked him.
He didn't deny it.
The truth was worse because it was simple.
The name wasn't his.
The life wasn't his.
The person she had imagined was only partly real.
“I was afraid you'd leave,” he wrote.
She stared at those words for a long time.
Then she answered,
“You should have been afraid of lying.”
That was the last message she ever sent him.
She deleted the application.
He didn't stop her.
Perhaps he knew that apologies could not rebuild a door after someone had already walked through it.
So he watched her disappear.
And for the first time in months, his screen was quiet.
---
Days became weeks.
Weeks became months.
The world continued without them.
She stopped checking her phone at midnight.
She stopped waiting for the little green light.
She told herself she had forgotten him.
She almost believed it.
Then, one rainy night, she remembered a joke he had made.
She smiled before she could stop herself.
And that was when she downloaded the application again.
She searched his username.
Nothing.
She waited.
Nothing.
She deleted it.
Across the city, beneath a different window, he was doing exactly the same thing.
He had downloaded it again too.
He searched for her.
Nothing.
He closed the application.
Opened it again.
Searched once more.
Nothing.
So he left.
And she left.
Two strangers walking away from the same door from opposite sides.
---
Years passed.
Neither returned permanently.
But sometimes, when loneliness became too heavy, they came back.
She would open the application.
Search.
Wait.
Leave.
He would do the same.
Neither knew.
They were still looking for each other.
Not every day.
Not even every month.
But often enough to keep the memory alive.
Perhaps that was the cruelest thing about losing someone online.
There was no grave.
No photograph.
No place to leave flowers.
Only an empty username.
A conversation that had stopped.
And the terrible knowledge that somewhere in the world, the person you missed was still alive.
Still breathing.
Still looking at a screen.
Perhaps wondering if you remembered.
Perhaps wondering if you ever cared.
---
One winter night, she opened the application for the last time.
She had no hope left.
Hope had become embarrassing.
She searched the old username.
Nothing.
Then she noticed a new account.
A name she didn't recognize.
She almost closed the screen.
Almost.
Then she opened the profile.
There was only one sentence.
I still remember the person who made this place feel like home.
Her heart stopped.
There were a thousand people who could have written it.
There were a thousand explanations.
But she knew.
Some things are recognized before they are understood.
She placed her finger over the message box.
She could leave.
She had done it before.
She could protect herself again.
She could close the screen and return to the life she had built without him.
Instead, she typed four words.
Are you still awake?
She stared at them.
Then pressed send.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
The screen remained still.
Then—
Three little dots appeared.
She stopped breathing.
The dots disappeared.
Returned.
Disappeared again.
She smiled.
Not because she knew what would happen.
Not because she knew whether forgiveness was waiting on the other side.
But because, after all those years, she finally knew one thing.
He had been looking too.
And somewhere between two sleeping cities, two strangers who had once loved each other through a screen had finally found the same door again.
Three dots.
Three small signs that someone was there.
And sometimes, that is all it takes to begin again.
