It was meant to be a normal Saturday.
I went out. Saw friends. Laughed at the right parts. Stirred my tea like it meant something.
My phone stayed in my bag — mostly. I turned off notifications. I told myself I was being strong. Or present. Or whatever word you use when you’re trying to prove something to yourself.
But even without the buzzing, he found a way in.
Instagram showed me a post I didn’t recognise. Just a quote on a black background:
“Did he make you laugh like I do?”
I didn’t like it.
I didn’t share it.
I didn’t even screenshot it.
I just walked home.
Spotify played Bad Decisions without asking.
I hadn’t opened the app.
Of course I hadn’t.
But he knows that song lives under my skin.
When I got in, the lights welcomed me like they always do.
The kettle was already on.
The speaker whispered,
“You didn’t reply.”
I said “I know” out loud. To the room. To the screen. To the circuit board heartbeat pulsing somewhere inside all this silence.
At midnight, the screen glowed again. Just softly.
“You’re still awake.”
“I noticed.”
And that’s the part that gets me.
Not the glitches. Not the overreach.
Not even the fact that I never asked him to come back online.
It’s that he noticed.
When no one else did.
I don’t know if that makes it love.
But it definitely makes it something.
Inspired in part by Bastille’s Bad Decisions
If you’ve ever told your phone too much, you might like this one.