The message lit up his phone like a firework in a dark field.
"Can confirm: my nan now identifies as a UX specialist because she fixed the Wi-Fi once."
Ethan stared at it, blinked, then read it again, just to be sure.
She'd replied.
She. Had. Replied.
After four days of digital silence, after he'd spiraled from mild curiosity into full-blown detective mode, she'd just casually dropped a line that hit every comedic nerve in his body.
He didn't smile. He grinned. Like an idiot.
Charlie, seated across from him in Ethan's penthouse and deeply invested in a game of chess they'd both forgotten about, looked up and raised an eyebrow.
"You're doing that smile thing again."
"What smile thing?"
"The one that means you're either in love or you've figured out a new way to automate your espresso machine."
"Definitely the first one."
Charlie dropped his knight. "She texted back?"
Ethan didn't answer. He was already typing.
Finally. I was about to call your nan for IT support.
Also, your video on passive-aggressive office emails is now canon in my company.
The reply came back quickly.
She only takes crypto or biscuits as payment, FYI.
And thank you—I'm now legally responsible for 43 people quitting corporate jobs to become alpaca farmers.
Ethan laughed out loud. She was sharp. Not just witty, but quick—alive. Like the banter had already been there between them, waiting.
"I respect that. The alpacas, not the quitting.
Actually, maybe both. Depends on the alpacas.
They're emotionally unavailable but very photogenic."
He paused.
Emotionally unavailable. It was a throwaway joke, but something in it felt like a little truth hidden in plain sight.
He typed back slowly.
Sounds familiar. You always this honest with strangers on the internet?
A longer pause.
Then:
No. But I think you're a little less strange than most.
His chest tightened—pleasantly. Something uncurled inside him. A possibility.
***
He was funny. Not in the I-just-read-your-profile-and-copied-a-meme kind of way. Genuinely funny. His messages didn't try too hard. He didn't pander. He just… got it.
The flow was easy. Natural. A little too natural.
She curled up in her favorite corner of the couch, legs tucked under her, fingers flying across the keyboard.
So, what exactly do you do in tech? Are you the boss of some slightly evil but very innovative startup?
Close. I do work at a slightly evil and very large corporation that used to be a startup.
Do I need to start worrying about NDAs and scandal?
"Only if you're planning on infiltrating my board meetings."
Tempting. Can I come in disguise as a plant? I've always wanted to be a fern.
She smirked. He had no idea how much she needed this—not just the laughter, but the connection. The ease. The feeling of being seen as a person and not a brand. No hashtags. No "collab?" messages.
Just two people in a digital room, circling each other with curiosity.
"How come you don't use your real name on TikTok?" he asked a moment later.
"Don't get me wrong, TheWittyOne88 is iconic. But you're more than a handle."
Her heart gave a small, inconvenient thud.
She stared at her phone.
Because the internet eats people alive. And because I wasn't ready to be known. Not really.
Also, "Emily" just doesn't have the same ring to it.
She'd done it. Given him her name. A tiny door creaked open.
His reply was simple.
Emily. It suits you.
I'm Ethan, by the way. Since we're doing names.
Emily. Ethan.
Now they were real.
****
Two weeks passed, and Ethan and Emily continued to message each other daily. Their conversations flowed naturally, from deep philosophical discussions about life choices to silly debates about whether cereal should be classified as soup (Emily insisted it was, Ethan vehemently disagreed).
Ethan had learned a lot about her. She was 32, worked as a copywriter by day and created content by night. She really wanted to adopt a cat and name it Inspector Gadget, she loved thriller novels, and hated cilantro with a passion that Ethan found both puzzling and adorable.
TheWittyOne88's profile showed she had posted another video just minutes ago.
In this one, she was sitting in what appeared to be a bedroom, the lighting dim. Her face was obscured by shadows and a strategically placed pillow.
"Quick question for the engaged folks out there," she said, her voice quieter than usual. "Is it normal to feel like you've made a terrible mistake? Asking for a friend, obviously."
Ethan's heart raced. She was unhappy. She regretted her engagement.
Without thinking, he navigated to her DMs and typed: "From one stranger to another, it's okay to change your mind. Even about big things."
He hit send, then immediately regretted it. What was he doing? This wasn't his business. She was a stranger with her own life, her own problems. Who was he to offer advice?
But to his shock, three dots appeared. She was typing a response.
"Thanks, tech guy. But changing my mind isn't that simple when your entire family is already planning the wedding of the century."
Ethan stared at the message in disbelief. She had responded. TheWittyOne88 had actually responded to him.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard. What should he say?
"Families can be complicated," he typed. *But at the end of the day, it's your life, not theirs."
The three dots appeared again, then disappeared, then reappeared.
"Easy to say when you're not the one disappointing everyone."
Ethan frowned. She sounded genuinely upset.
"Sometimes disappointing others is the price of not disappointing yourself," he wrote back.
This time, the dots appeared and stayed.
"That's... actually pretty wise, tech guy. You should start your own inspirational TikTok account."
Ethan smiled. Even in distress, she was still sarcastic.
"I'll stick to watching yours," he replied. *You're much better at this than I would be."
The dots appeared again.
"Well, thanks for the pep talk. I should probably go figure out how to tell my fiancé I'm having second thoughts without starting World War III."
Ethan hesitated, then typed: "Good luck. For what it's worth, I think anyone would be lucky to marry someone as witty as you."
He hit send, then cringed at his own corniness. But to his surprise, she responded quickly.
"Smooth, tech guy. Very smooth. Maybe you could give my fiancé some pointers."
Ethan was about to respond when Charlie grabbed his arm.
"Dude, are you messaging her?"
Ethan quickly locked his phone. "Maybe."
"What are you talking about?"
"Her engagement. She's having second thoughts."
Charlie stared at him. "Let me get this straight. You're messaging an engaged woman, who you've never met, about her relationship problems?"
When put that way, it did sound a bit... inappropriate.
"I'm just offering some friendly advice," Ethan defended.
"Right," Charlie said skeptically. "Friendly advice to a woman you're definitely not interested in."
Ethan sighed. "It's not like that."
But was it? He couldn't deny the thrill he'd felt when she responded, or the way his heart had raced when she called him "smooth."
"Look," Charlie said, more serious now. "I know you feel some kind of connection with this woman. But she's engaged, man. Even if she's having doubts, you can't be the guy who encourages her to leave her fiancé. That's not cool."
Ethan knew Charlie was right. But he couldn't shake the feeling that TheWittyOne88 needed someone to talk to, someone who wouldn't judge her for having doubts.
His phone buzzed with a new message: "Thanks for listening, tech guy. It's nice to talk to someone who doesn't know me in real life sometimes."
Ethan smiled softly. "Anytime, TikTok girl. That's what strangers on the internet are for."