“The Illusion of XYZ”

I met him online—let’s call him XYZ. He never told me his real name, never revealed where he lived, and I had no idea what he looked like. He was a mystery, yet somehow, he became one of the most important people in my life.

One day, when someone was bothering me online, XYZ stepped in to help. From that moment, we started talking every day, sharing thoughts, emotions, and small details of our lives. For five or six months, he was my safe place, my comfort, my constant.

Then, one day, things changed.

XYZ told me he wanted something more than friendship. I hesitated. I wasn’t ready, but he insisted—he made me feel like if I didn’t say yes, I would lose him. He convinced me, in ways I didn’t understand then but do now. And so, I gave in. He made me feel special, like I was the only girl in the world for him.

But suddenly, he started changing.

XYZ was 23, and he believed I was 17. The truth? I was only 16. I knew I had lied, and I regretted it. I had planned to tell him myself—I wanted him to hear it from me, not from someone else. But fate had other plans.

Some old friends—people I had once trusted but had since lost—told him the truth before I could. They wanted to break our friendship, to ruin whatever bond we had left. We fought. He was angry, hurt. But surprisingly, our connection didn’t break. Despite everything, we still talked.

Time passed, and things changed again. I don’t know when or how, but one day, XYZ disappeared. No warning, no goodbye. He blocked me everywhere, erasing me like I never existed. At first, I thought it was just me. Maybe he was mad, maybe he needed space.

But then, I learned the truth.

XYZ wasn’t just talking to me—he was talking to many girls, telling them the same things he once told me, making them feel just as special as he had made me feel. I wasn’t his only “one.” I was just another name on his list, another girl caught in his web of words.

And yet, despite knowing all this, despite the betrayal, despite the pain… I still long for him. I still find myself wishing for one more conversation, one more message, one more moment where I felt like I mattered.

I don’t know if that makes me foolish or just human. But I do know that some wounds don’t heal easily, and some people leave scars even when they don’t deserve to.

Maybe one day, I’ll stop waiting. Maybe one day, I’ll finally move on.

But today is not that day.

Maybe one day, I’ll forget him. Maybe one day, his memories won’t haunt me. But today, I still wait—for a message, a sign, anything. Maybe I was just another girl to him, but he was everything to me.