After a night of calendar approved intimacy..

That Horrid Girl and That Guy logged in together —

Very new, much awkward.

That was when the visitations began

The First Spirit: The Ghost of Profiles Past

This spirit arrived clutching a sea of blue “single” profiles,

each whispering the same haunting refrain:

“It’s a loveless marriage.”

The ghost showed Horrid and That Guy the ancient ritual of omission:

men who were partnered elsewhere,

but spiritually single online.

Faceless profiles ,

bios written in third person,

and honesty treated as an optional extra.

“Behold,” said the spirit,

“where transparency went to die.”

Horrid wept softly.

That Guy sighed — he’d seen this ghost before.

The Second Spirit: The Ghost of Messages Present

This one arrived unannounced.

Naturally.

It carried unsolicited enthusiasm,

misplaced self-regard,

and albums shared with the urgency of a public service announcement.

“Observe,” the spirit said,

“how curiosity is mistaken for consent,

and how ‘new’ is interpreted as ‘here for you specifically.’”

They watched as boundaries were greeted with surprise,

politeness was read as encouragement,

and silence was treated as a technical fault.

“Do they think we’re communal property?” Horrid asked.

The spirit said nothing.

It simply opened another album.

⸻

The Third Spirit: The Ghost of Futures Yet to Come

This spirit said very little.

It showed a future where Horrid remained unchecked, crude and relentless

filling every gap with nudes and noise.

And That Guy, sweet and entirely himself

said very little,

letting his presence do what words never could.

In this future, they were no longer new—

just tired of carrying the Pool chat.

They were reduced to inbox ornaments,

their coupledom treated like a fun feature,

their visibility mistaken—boldly—for consent.

At last, Horrid spoke:

“This future is dull.”

That Guy nodded.