How I Fell in Love with Someone I Never Met

A simple one — on a forum for amateur writers. I had posted a story about loneliness disguised as poetry, and someone named SableInk replied: “You make sadness sound beautiful.”

That was it. But something about the words stayed with me. I replied. They replied back. And soon, we were exchanging messages daily.

They lived in another country — one I couldn’t even point to on a map at first. We talked about everything: our favorite books, the weather, how we both felt too much. They told me about their dog, their fear of thunderstorms, their dream of living by the sea. I told them about my coffee addiction, my awkward laugh, my messy room full of unfinished art.

It wasn’t romantic at first. Just human. Raw. Easy.

Then, one night, they sent a playlist called “If I Could Tell You Everything.”

The first song started slow, almost sad, but halfway through it changed — like the sound of sunlight breaking through clouds. I listened to it three times before replying: “You did tell me everything.”

That night, I realized I’d fallen for someone whose face I didn’t know. Someone whose voice I’d never heard. Someone who somehow understood me more than the people sitting next to me every day.

Months passed. We kept writing. Sometimes we disappeared for days, then came back with apologies and long paragraphs of everything we’d missed. It felt like a secret world — one that existed only between the blinking cursors of our messages.

Eventually, life got busy. Conversations grew shorter. Then they stopped entirely.

I still check the forum sometimes. Their account’s gone now.

But I still have the playlist. I still listen to it when it rains. And every time, I imagine they’re doing the same — somewhere far away, smiling at the thought that maybe they made someone feel seen.

Maybe love doesn’t need faces or names. Maybe it just needs connection — even if it lives in the spaces between words.