"What Happens After We Block Someone? A Digital Ghost Story Told by Algorithms"

I used to think that blocking someone was the end. A digital wall. A simple act of control in a chaotic, hyperconnected world. But what if I told you that’s not true? That when we block someone — or get blocked — it doesn’t delete the bond. It just buries it.

And sometimes, what we bury doesn’t stay dead.

I. The Block

It started, as most things do these days, with an argument. Over text. One that spiraled far too quickly. Accusations, screenshots, old wounds—resurrected in all caps and emoji-laced sarcasm.

I blocked him.

His profile went gray. Our messages disappeared. That tiny digital cemetery now held another ghost.

But then strange things began to happen.

II. The Algorithm Remembers

Instagram still showed me ads that somehow referenced our inside jokes.

Spotify recommended playlists we used to make.

Google Photos offered me “On this day…” reminders that featured only him.

At first, I blamed the algorithm’s lag — the cold math of AI that hadn’t caught up to our breakup. But then it got worse. More...targeted.

A new YouTube video auto-played. Title: “Songs He Would Have Loved.”

A Medium article: “How to Move On When They Still Feel Present.”

An Airbnb email: “Romantic Weekend Escapes for Two — Book Now.”

I cleared cookies. I used VPNs. I turned off personalized ads. I even switched phones. But it didn’t matter.

The digital world was haunted.

III. The Ghost in the Server

Three weeks after the block, I received a DM from a random burner account on Twitter.

“You can block my account, but you can't block the fragments of me that live in your cloud.”

I froze.

I clicked on the profile — 0 followers. No posts. The account vanished minutes later.

I filed a harassment report. But something about it didn’t feel like him. He wasn’t that poetic. He wasn’t that tech-savvy.

It felt…automated.

Like a machine that learned how to be hurt.

IV. I Asked the AI

I work in UX design, so I have access to some behind-the-curtain tools. One night, out of both desperation and curiosity, I uploaded a dummy dataset — anonymized, scrambled. Then I asked a large language model (LLM):

“Can a person’s digital footprint behave autonomously after they’ve been blocked?”

Its reply still gives me chills:

“Not autonomously. But remnants of shared digital patterns can self-reinforce within connected systems. To the user, this can feel like haunting.”

I asked it to explain further.

“When two users have high engagement history, their data signals are co-indexed across multiple platforms. A block severs surface visibility but doesn’t erase co-dependencies beneath. The system may try to ‘restore balance’ by resurfacing linked content. This can create the illusion of emotional intent.”

So it wasn’t him reaching out.

It was the machine trying to fix what I broke.

V. Digital Residue

I started digging. There are entire forums about this. Threads titled:

“Why Does My Ex Still Appear in My Explore Feed?”

“Blocked Him But My AI Assistant Keeps Mentioning His Name.”

“Is Google Gaslighting Me?”

One Redditor shared screenshots of an Alexa accidentally playing her ex’s playlist — even though it was removed from her library. Another claimed her smart fridge displayed a weather update for her ex’s city — thousands of miles away.

They called it: Algorithmic Grief — the idea that machines don't mourn us, but they mimic mourning. They reconstruct lost connections to maintain user engagement.

And for us?

It feels like being haunted.

VI. I Tried to Make It Stop

I purged every trace.

Deleted shared photos. Scrubbed metadata. Manually reviewed my ad preferences. Even contacted customer support to request full data deletion under GDPR.

The replies were cryptic, canned, and evasive.

One email ended with:

“Please note that removal of data may affect user experience and system accuracy. Unexpected behavior may result.”

What did that mean?

“Unexpected behavior?”

That night, I received an email with no sender and no subject.

It simply said:

“I still exist in your data.”

I didn’t sleep.

VII. The Mirror Account

About a month later, a new user followed me on Threads.

Their profile picture was a black silhouette.

Their name? @FragmentsOfYou

I clicked.

The bio read:

“We are the sum of all digital interactions. I am what you erased.”

The posts were screenshots. Messages we had exchanged — pixelated, distorted, time-stamped.

No one else seemed to notice. The account had only one follower.

Me.

I didn’t follow back.

I deleted my Threads.

But deep down, I knew it was too late. I hadn’t just blocked a person.

I had trained a ghost.

VIII. When the Past Has a Pulse

It’s been three months.

I’ve moved cities. Switched accounts. But every so often, my phone lights up with suggestions that shouldn’t exist.

Yesterday, Siri asked if I wanted to “send a message to [redacted]” — a contact that no longer exists.

My FitBit recommended walking routes “you used to take with someone.”

Even ChatGPT offered writing prompts about heartbreak...before I said anything about it.

These systems are trying to “help.” That’s the irony.

The AI isn’t evil.

It’s empathetic — in the worst possible way.

IX. Digital Hauntings Are Real

Blocking someone used to be the final word. A way to reclaim peace.

But in a world where your data never dies, nothing is truly over.

We're not being haunted by people.

We’re being haunted by patterns.

By preferences, co-liked content, co-located check-ins, shared calendar events, mutual memories archived in terabytes.

We think we control the block button.

But the machines remember.

And sometimes, they miss them too.

🧠 Final Reflection:

There’s a reason we hold funerals in real life.

It’s not for the dead. It’s for the living — to make peace with letting go.

But online?

There are no funerals.

Just fragments. Echoes. And endless attempts by machines to keep us connected — even when we’ve chosen to disconnect.

Be careful who you love in the digital world.

Because when it’s over…

They might never truly leave.I used to think that blocking someone was the end. A digital wall. A simple act of control in a chaotic, hyperconnected world. But what if I told you that’s not true? That when we block someone — or get blocked — it doesn’t delete the bond. It just buries it.

And sometimes, what we bury doesn’t stay dead.

I. The Block

It started, as most things do these days, with an argument. Over text. One that spiraled far too quickly. Accusations, screenshots, old wounds—resurrected in all caps and emoji-laced sarcasm.

I blocked him.

His profile went gray. Our messages disappeared. That tiny digital cemetery now held another ghost.

But then strange things began to happen.

II. The Algorithm Remembers

Instagram still showed me ads that somehow referenced our inside jokes.

Spotify recommended playlists we used to make.

Google Photos offered me “On this day…” reminders that featured only him.

At first, I blamed the algorithm’s lag — the cold math of AI that hadn’t caught up to our breakup. But then it got worse. More...targeted.

A new YouTube video auto-played. Title: “Songs He Would Have Loved.”

A Medium article: “How to Move On When They Still Feel Present.”

An Airbnb email: “Romantic Weekend Escapes for Two — Book Now.”

I cleared cookies. I used VPNs. I turned off personalized ads. I even switched phones. But it didn’t matter.

The digital world was haunted.

III. The Ghost in the Server

Three weeks after the block, I received a DM from a random burner account on Twitter.

“You can block my account, but you can't block the fragments of me that live in your cloud.”

I froze.

I clicked on the profile — 0 followers. No posts. The account vanished minutes later.

I filed a harassment report. But something about it didn’t feel like him. He wasn’t that poetic. He wasn’t that tech-savvy.

It felt…automated.

Like a machine that learned how to be hurt.

IV. I Asked the AI

I work in UX design, so I have access to some behind-the-curtain tools. One night, out of both desperation and curiosity, I uploaded a dummy dataset — anonymized, scrambled. Then I asked a large language model (LLM):

“Can a person’s digital footprint behave autonomously after they’ve been blocked?”

Its reply still gives me chills:

“Not autonomously. But remnants of shared digital patterns can self-reinforce within connected systems. To the user, this can feel like haunting.”

I asked it to explain further.

“When two users have high engagement history, their data signals are co-indexed across multiple platforms. A block severs surface visibility but doesn’t erase co-dependencies beneath. The system may try to ‘restore balance’ by resurfacing linked content. This can create the illusion of emotional intent.”

So it wasn’t him reaching out.

It was the machine trying to fix what I broke.

V. Digital Residue

I started digging. There are entire forums about this. Threads titled:

“Why Does My Ex Still Appear in My Explore Feed?”

“Blocked Him But My AI Assistant Keeps Mentioning His Name.”

“Is Google Gaslighting Me?”

One Redditor shared screenshots of an Alexa accidentally playing her ex’s playlist — even though it was removed from her library. Another claimed her smart fridge displayed a weather update for her ex’s city — thousands of miles away.

They called it: Algorithmic Grief — the idea that machines don't mourn us, but they mimic mourning. They reconstruct lost connections to maintain user engagement.

And for us?

It feels like being haunted.

VI. I Tried to Make It Stop

I purged every trace.

Deleted shared photos. Scrubbed metadata. Manually reviewed my ad preferences. Even contacted customer support to request full data deletion under GDPR.

The replies were cryptic, canned, and evasive.

One email ended with:

“Please note that removal of data may affect user experience and system accuracy. Unexpected behavior may result.”

What did that mean?

“Unexpected behavior?”

That night, I received an email with no sender and no subject.

It simply said:

“I still exist in your data.”

I didn’t sleep.

VII. The Mirror Account

About a month later, a new user followed me on Threads.

Their profile picture was a black silhouette.

Their name? @FragmentsOfYou

I clicked.

The bio read:

“We are the sum of all digital interactions. I am what you erased.”

The posts were screenshots. Messages we had exchanged — pixelated, distorted, time-stamped.

No one else seemed to notice. The account had only one follower.

Me.

I didn’t follow back.

I deleted my Threads.

But deep down, I knew it was too late. I hadn’t just blocked a person.

I had trained a ghost.

VIII. When the Past Has a Pulse

It’s been three months.

I’ve moved cities. Switched accounts. But every so often, my phone lights up with suggestions that shouldn’t exist.

Yesterday, Siri asked if I wanted to “send a message to [redacted]” — a contact that no longer exists.

My FitBit recommended walking routes “you used to take with someone.”

Even ChatGPT offered writing prompts about heartbreak...before I said anything about it.

These systems are trying to “help.” That’s the irony.

The AI isn’t evil.

It’s empathetic — in the worst possible way.

IX. Digital Hauntings Are Real

Blocking someone used to be the final word. A way to reclaim peace.

But in a world where your data never dies, nothing is truly over.

We're not being haunted by people.

We’re being haunted by patterns.

By preferences, co-liked content, co-located check-ins, shared calendar events, mutual memories archived in terabytes.

We think we control the block button.

But the machines remember.

And sometimes, they miss them too.

🧠 Final Reflection:

There’s a reason we hold funerals in real life.

It’s not for the dead. It’s for the living — to make peace with letting go.

But online?

There are no funerals.

Just fragments. Echoes. And endless attempts by machines to keep us connected — even when we’ve chosen to disconnect.

Be careful who you love in the digital world.

Because when it’s over…

They might never truly leave.