I never believed a life could change because of a comment on a reel. Comments were throwaway things to me, typed without thought, forgotten without regret. That night was no different. I saw her comment, smirked to myself, and replied with something teasing. It wasn't meant to hurt. It wasn't meant to start anything at all.
But she replied.
Not with laughter. Not with sarcasm. With anger.
She messaged me directly, calling it rude, unnecessary, saying I had no right to talk like that. I remember feeling defensive instantly. Like I was being accused of something bigger than it was. I argued back. She argued harder. Within minutes, we were deep into a full-blown online fight, two strangers throwing words at each other with no idea who the other really was.
I didn't know her name. I didn't know her age. I didn't know where she was from.
And yet, we were angry like we had history.
The fight went on longer than it should have. At some point, I stopped caring about being right. I just wanted it to end. So I apologized. Not because I felt deeply sorry, but because I wanted distance. I wanted out.
I expected her to leave after that.
She didn't.
She replied. Calm this time. Short. Almost neutral. That should have been the end of it. I could have left the chat there, closed the app, and moved on with my life without ever thinking of her again.
Instead, I stayed.
We started talking. Not about the fight. Not about feelings. Just random things. School. Boring daily stuff. The kind of conversations that don't matter. At least, that's what I told myself.
Days passed.
Our chats became routine. Not long, not deep, just consistent. A "hey" after school. A reply late at night. I didn't notice when it stopped being random and started becoming expected. I didn't notice how my mood shifted depending on whether she replied or not.
She was still a stranger.
But a familiar one.
She joked a lot. She had this jolly way of talking, even when she casually mentioned problems at home. She never complained outright. She just… carried things quietly. I admired that without realizing I did.
Weeks passed, and somewhere along the way, she started hinting at something more. I missed every single sign.
She'd say things like how she liked talking to me more than others. How certain messages stayed on her mind longer than they should. I brushed it all off, thinking she was just friendly.
I was stupid like that.
Then one day, out of nowhere, she said, "Your wife would be so lucky."
I laughed. Typed back without thinking.
"Then you become one."
To me, it was a joke. A careless line thrown into a casual conversation.
To her, it was a door.
There was a pause. Longer than usual. Then she replied, asking if I was serious. I told her I was joking. She said, "What if I wasn't?"
That question sat heavy in my chest.
That was the first time I stopped and really thought about her. Not as someone on my screen, not as a habit but as a person. A person who made me smile without trying. A person whose messages I reread. A person who felt present even through text.
I hadn't seen her face.
I hadn't heard her voice.
And somehow, that didn't matter.
I realized I liked her. Quietly. Slowly. Without a clear starting point.
People later told me that online feelings weren't real. That school love was foolish. That distance kills everything. Maybe they were right. But at that moment, none of it mattered.
All I knew was that a comment I didn't mean had led me here
to caring about someone I was never supposed to meet.
And I had no idea how deeply that would change everything.