She pressed it.
First went Jake, the musician who’d said “I’m not ready for a relationship” after seven months of acting like her boyfriend. Poof. His texts stopped arriving mid-sentence, as if reality itself had edited him out.
Chloe thought it was a joke. Then she tried it. boyfriend free
He replied three dots. Then: It’s 3 a.m.
She ignored it.
Slowly, she opened the app settings and found the button she’d missed before: Restore all data. Including the pain.
Her phone buzzed with twelve backlogged messages, twelve ghosts returning at once. She winced, then smiled—actually smiled, for the first time in weeks. She pressed it
Then went the man she’d never dated but who’d taken up too much space in her head anyway—the one who’d smiled at her once in a grocery store and become a fantasy for six lonely months. The app asked, “Has he ever actually been your boyfriend?” She clicked “No.” The app replied, “Then he’s already free. But we’ll free you, too.” And just like that, she stopped wondering what if.
The app refreshed with a new tagline: “Boyfriend free. Heart full. Welcome back.” His texts stopped arriving mid-sentence, as if reality
Chloe stared at the screen. The ice cream had melted hours ago.
She thought about Jake’s laugh. Marcus’s stupid joke about the raccoon in the trash can. The grocery store stranger’s eyes—she couldn’t even picture them anymore.