The gossip, when it came, was delivered not by her, but by Jen over beers a month in.
"So, uh... you heard about the musician?" she asked, hesitant.
"I've heard nothing," I said, and it was the truth. "And I prefer it that way."
She filled me in anyway. Jake had, predictably, been a vortex of consumption. The $200 was just the start. He'd never paid for a single meal, drank all her good wine, and then she'd found him in the DMs of one of her own followers. The spark had, as sparks tend to do, burned out quickly and left a mess.
"She's a mess, Leo," Jen said, watching me carefully for a reaction. "Really crying about it. Says she's lost her best friend and her boyfriend at the same time."
I took a slow sip of my beer. "She lost her best friend the moment she decided he was just her brother."
The words were calm, a simple statement of cause and effect. I felt a distant pang of something—not sympathy for her pain, but a profound pity for the person I used to be, the one who would have been devastated by that news. Now, it was just data. It confirmed my hypothesis. The cycle was broken because I had removed myself from the machine.
It was in a bookstore 2 months into my new life that I met Sarah. I was in the architecture section looking for a book on mid-century modern design, a new interest that felt entirely my own.
"Good choice," a voice said next to me. "But if you're just getting into it, this one gives a better overview of the philosophical roots."
I turned. She had intelligent eyes behind stylish glasses and a smile that was curious, not calculating. She held out a different book.
"Oh, thanks," I said, taking it. "I'm just branching out."
"A good thing to do," she replied.
Her name was Sarah. She was an architect. We talked for 20 minutes right there in the aisle about Frank Lloyd Wright and the sin of decorative excess. It was a conversation, a back-and-forth. She asked me questions about my work and actually listened to the answers. I asked about her projects and found myself genuinely interested. There was no performance. I wasn't trying to be her rock, her therapist, her brother. I was just a guy talking to a woman in a bookstore.