Chapter 6: Messenger Games

Turns out, nobody knew Lillian better than I did. I could predict her moves before she made them.

The night after we bought the stroller, her friend request popped up on Messenger as I sat in the living room, TV humming, Natalie snoring softly on the couch. My thumb hovered over ‘accept,’ my knee bouncing, jaw clenched.

But I wasn’t the naive kid I used to be. I let her sweat it out, set my phone face-down and paced the hallway, letting her wonder if I’d changed.

Even though I was dying to talk to her, I left her hanging all night. Natalie’s kindness had taught me one thing—in love, whoever takes the initiative is the fool. I played it cool.

Sure enough, next day, there she was—twelve friend requests in a row, each with a new note: “Hey Derek, long time no see,” “Derek, you’re so heartless. I know I was wrong back then, but you can’t just ignore me now, can you?”

I read every one, smirking. For once, she was the desperate one. To avoid Natalie’s suspicion, I left early, muttering about collecting rent, hands shaking as I grabbed my keys.

After driving out of the neighborhood, I found a coffee shop, ordered a cinnamon roll and a coffee, and finally accepted her request. I sat by the window, watching traffic, thumb hovering over my phone.

But nothing came—not a ping, not a hello. My confidence wavered. I waited an hour, tapping my coffee cup, staring at the foam, waiting for her to reply.

“She must be at work and hasn’t seen that I’ve accepted her request yet, right?” I told myself.

But by lunchtime, I couldn’t sit still. The pastries were cold, my coffee gone. Noon came and went. She couldn’t have not checked her phone this long, could she?

Either she was playing games, or she was mad I left her waiting. By 1 p.m., I was sure it was the latter. Panic crept in, memories of our old fights flooding back. Lillian could hold a grudge like nobody else—once, I was late with her Valentine’s gift and she ignored me for over a month.

I started to sweat. I typed: [“Lillian, sorry, I went to bed too early last night and didn’t see your friend request, so I only accepted it this morning.”]

No reply. The little check mark just sat there, mocking me.

By 4 p.m., nothing. I watched the sun move across the coffee shop windows, feeling like I was swallowing glass I couldn’t spit back up. I caught my reflection in the window—tired eyes, wrinkled shirt, half-eaten muffin. I hated myself. I wanted out. I stayed.

I typed again, ego gone: [“Lillian, are you mad? I’m sorry, I really did fall asleep last night.”] [“How could I ignore you? All these years, I still dream about you.”] [“Not being able to marry you is my biggest regret in life. How could I ignore you?”]

Finally, the Messenger dots pulsed—she was typing. Hope and dread tangled in my chest.

Her reply hit me like a punch: [“Even if you really fell asleep last night, after you accepted my friend request this morning, why didn’t you say a word? Why did you wait until nearly 1 p.m. to say anything?”] [“Derek, you’ve changed, huh? Want to play mind games with me?”] [“You’re overthinking it. I won’t play these dumb games with you.”] [“I added you only because, after all, we were once together. Since we met again yesterday, it didn’t seem right to keep you blocked. That’s all.”] [“Since you’re like this, you might as well stay blocked. Goodbye.”]

I tried to reply, but it was too late—blocked. Again. I stared at the blinking cursor, the rest of my life suddenly as blank as the screen.