Fourteen unread texts. Six DMs you haven't opened because once you open them, they know you saw. Three "we should catch up soon!" messages from people you haven't actually spoken to in two years.

You still care about them. But every hangout leaves you lonelier than staying home would have.

You're with someone who looks perfect for you. Same values, healthy communication, all the things that matter. And you feel nothing. Not dramatic heartbreak—the quiet nothing of living someone else's life.

You track who texted first, who paid last, who remembered more. The mental ledger that's supposed to keep things fair is exhausting your capacity for real connection.