The café smelled like burnt espresso and cinnamon pastries. Soft music played in the background—something jazzy and slow—but it couldn’t drown out the ticking of the clock above the counter.

Each second stretched like taffy. My fingers curled tighter around the warm coffee cup in front of me.

The steam had long faded, but I hadn’t taken a sip. I wasn’t thirsty. I was waiting.

I kept staring at the door, then the clock, then my phone. I read his message again for the fifth time, as if maybe this time it would say something different:

“Can we meet tonight? I need to talk. Seriously.”

That one word—seriously—it sat in my gut like a stone. I knew what it meant. I’d been through this too many times to pretend it was anything else.

Then the little bell over the café door jingled, and I looked up. Mark. He paused at the entrance, scanning the room like he wasn’t even sure I’d show.

His eyes found mine, and for a second, he froze.

Then he walked toward me, his steps slow, almost unsure. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even say my name.

“Hey,” he mumbled, sliding into the chair across from me. He didn’t take off his coat. His eyes wandered everywhere but my face.

“How was your day?”

I forced a polite smile, though my chest felt tight.

“Fine. I was more curious about what this serious talk was all about.”

He shifted in his seat, picking at the edge of the table.

“Yeah… Look, Mia, it’s been almost two months, and things are getting kind of serious, and I think—”

“You’re breaking up with me,” I said, cutting him off before he could finish.

He blinked, caught off guard. “Wow. That was fast.”

I looked down at my hands. They were trembling. I wrapped them around the cup again, steadying myself.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve had this conversation,” I whispered, mostly to myself.

“What is it this time? What’s wrong with me?”

“It’s not you,” he began, his voice soft and awkward.

I stood up, pushing the chair back gently.

“Let’s not. Just… don’t.”

I didn’t want to hear the rest. I already knew the script.

As I walked out, I didn’t look back. I didn’t want to see his face or the untouched coffee in front of him. I didn’t want to feel the sting of hope dying again.

Another goodbye. Another quiet ending.

Half an hour later, I was curled up on Clara’s couch, my knees pulled to my chest, my face buried in a soft throw pillow that smelled like her lavender laundry soap.

My tears soaked into the fabric, but I didn’t care.

Everything inside me felt like it was breaking again, like some tiny crack that had never healed right was splitting all over.

“I just don’t get it,” I managed between sobs, my voice muffled.

“Five relationships in two years. All start great, and then—bam! They vanish. Like I scare them off.”

Clara sat beside me, her hand gently rubbing circles on my back.

“Men… Mia. They lie. They cheat. And when they can’t handle someone smart and kind like you, they run.”

I sniffled and turned my face toward her.

The glow from the lamp made her features soft, almost angelic, like a quiet voice in the middle of a storm. I wanted to believe her. I really did.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “It’s always the same. They pull away for no reason. They all say they’re not ready. Like they’re reading from the same sad script.”

“Maybe they’re just trash,” Clara said simply, her voice firm. “You deserve better.”

I gave her a tired nod, but something deep in my chest still ached, like a splinter I couldn’t reach.

Her words were sweet, kind—but they didn’t fix the question buzzing in my head. What if it’s not them? What if it’s me?

That night, I lay on the edge of my bed, my legs dangling, thumbnail chewed raw as I stared at the floor.

The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the fridge. I couldn’t sleep. My thoughts wouldn’t stop.

I grabbed my laptop, hoping maybe seeing myself the way others saw me would help. I opened Instagram.

Then Facebook. Even my old Tumblr, dusty and full of quotes from my college years. Everything looked normal. Same photos, same jokes, same memories.

Then I typed my name into Google, almost on instinct.

That’s when I found it.

A dating profile. With my name. My face.

But it wasn’t mine.

I clicked on it, heart pounding. My photo. Another one. Even one from my college dorm room. Some I’d never posted anywhere.

A fake bio stared back at me, cruel and sharp:

“I change men like gloves. They’re dumb enough not to notice.”

My stomach dropped. I couldn’t breathe.

Who would do this?

I messaged Clara right away.

She replied instantly: “What the hell!? Who could’ve made this??”

Then it hit me. Like a slap in the dark.

Three years ago. That’s when it started.

Three years ago… James.

James.

Just the thought of his name made my skin tighten. My college boyfriend. We’d lasted longer than anyone else I’d ever been with. Years.

Laughing through all-night study sessions, holding hands between classes, whispering plans about the future.

But somewhere along the way, we started wanting different things. At least that’s what Clara said. If she thought we weren't a good fit, I believe her.

I wanted to grow. He wanted everything to stay the same. So, I left. And he hadn’t taken it well.

“It’s James,” I texted Clara. My fingers shook as I typed. “It has to be. I’m going over there.”

Her reply came fast: “Mia, no. This is a bad idea!”

But it was too late.

My car seemed to drive itself. I still remembered his street, his building, the apartment number burned into my memory.

I parked without thinking, slammed the door shut harder than I meant to, and climbed the stairs, two at a time.

When I reached his door, I stood still for a second, heart pounding in my ears. A tiny part of me hoped he had moved, that someone else would answer. I knocked on the door. The door creaked open.

And there he was.

James looked older. Lines had carved into his forehead, and there were shadows under his eyes. But it was still him. The same crooked smile, the same gentle eyes.

“Mia?” he said, blinking in surprise. “What are you—?”

I didn’t let him finish. I held up my phone, shaking with anger. “You made this. Didn’t you?”

His eyebrows scrunched. “What is that?”

“Don’t lie to me!” My voice cracked. “This disgusting profile! You ruined my life!”

He stepped back, glancing at the screen. “I’ve never seen this before, Mia. I swear.”

I pushed the phone closer to his face. “You wanted to punish me. For leaving you. Admit it.”

His expression softened, and his voice dropped.

“Mia, calm down. Please. Let me help. If this is fake, we can check the IP address. That’ll show where it was created.”

I blinked. “What?”

“There’s always a trace,” he said. “Whoever made it left a fingerprint online.”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to trust him—but I had nothing else. “Fine.”

He led me to his old desk. The same one I used to study at when we were together. He opened his laptop, typed quickly, clicking through screens I didn’t understand.

Then he stopped.

“There,” he said, turning the screen toward me.

The IP address. I didn’t know the numbers. But then he showed me the linked location.

I stared.

It was Clara’s.

The doorbell rang.

James and I both jumped a little. The sound cut through the room like a knife. We looked at each other, eyes wide, silent.

Then back at the door. My heart picked up speed, a steady thump in my chest.

I moved slowly, cautiously, and opened it just a few inches.

Clara stood there.

She was wearing her favorite denim jacket, the one with the tiny tear on the sleeve. Her hair was a bit messy, and her eyes didn’t settle.

They darted past me, straight to James standing in the background.

“I came to get you,” she said, lips curving into a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here with him.”

I stared at her for a beat, then stepped aside. “Come in, Clara.”

She walked in slowly, carefully, like someone stepping onto a frozen lake. Her eyes jumped around the room—walls, floor, James—then back to me.

Something in her was twitchy, off.

I turned to face her, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. “The fake profile…” My voice shook. “It was created from your address.”

She froze, blinking fast. “What? That’s ridiculous.” She turned to James, her voice rising. “He’s lying—he’s trying to trick you!”

I snapped, “James doesn’t even know how to use half these apps. He barely checks his email. It was you. You ruined every relationship I had.”

Her mouth opened like she wanted to argue, but then it just hung there. Her lips trembled. She looked like a balloon deflating.

“They weren’t right for you,” she said softly.

I felt the words hit me, sharp and cold. “What?”

“You deserve someone who really sees you,” Clara whispered. “Someone like—like me.”

My breath caught. I took a step back, shaking my head. “Clara... you’re in love with me?”

Tears slid down her cheeks. Her voice broke.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted you to stop chasing men who’d never stay. I thought… if they were gone, you’d see me.”

My voice dropped to a whisper. “This... this isn’t love. This is control. You took everything from me.”

Clara cried harder, covering her mouth with her hands. “You’ll see! One day you’ll realize I’m right!”

I looked at her, heart torn between sadness and rage. “Get out.”

She didn’t move.

“Now.”

Still crying, she turned slowly, walked to the door—and I closed it behind her with a soft click that sounded louder than anything in the room.

I collapsed onto James’s couch, my legs giving out beneath me like they’d finally had enough.

My body was trembling, my