Page 1 of Shattered Obsession

CHAPTER ONE

-Thalia-

Dating apps.

The one thing I never thought I’d ever try.

As I sit cross-legged on my bed, the soft glow from my phone illuminating my face, I find myself scrolling through profiles. I always thought I would naturally meet someone at a restaurant, bar, or grocery store. But to do that, I’d have to put myself out there, which my introverted personality heavily vetoes. So, after some my friend recommended I try a dating app, I finally gave in, thinking, “Why not? What could it hurt?”

Although the real reason I downloaded the app is because I’m tired of pretending I’m fine with being alone.

I tell myself I’m just curious, just looking, just ‘putting myself out there’. I tell myself everyone does this now, that it isn’t desperate, that it’s normal. I tell myself I’m allowed to want something soft. Someone soft.

But it’s late, my room is quiet in the suffocating way that makes my chest feel heavy, and the only sounds are the hum of the fan and the faint traffic outside my window. I’m lying on my stomach, chin on my pillow, scrolling through profiles. It feels like shopping for something that doesn’t actually exist.

Most of the guys blur together. Gym selfie. Fish picture. Caption that’s just an emoji and his height like it’s a credential. Some of them lead with attitude that isn’t earned. ‘Don’t waste my time.’ ‘Not looking for drama.’ ‘No crazy exes.’ As soon as those words meet my eyes, I swipe left so fast that I nearly sprain something.

I don’t want perfect. I want safe. I don’t even realize that’s what I’m looking for until I feel the way my shoulders ease when a profile doesn’t immediately scream at me. That’s when I see him.

Xander.

His first photo isn’t a flex of some ridiculous brag that says ‘Hey, look at me.’ It’s him laughing. Not posing or angling himself. Just… caught mid-smile. There’s sun on his face and something in his expression that looks open. Warm. His jaw is sharp, but his mouth is soft, and I take notice of the little things, like the curve of his lips and the way his eyes scrunch a tad at the corners. Like he’s the kind of person who smiles with his whole face or not at all.

His bio isn’t long, but it’s not a red flag either. He says he likes dogs and cats, watching YouTube and movies, scrolling on social media for stupid memes, playing video games with his friends, and anything to do with cars and trucks or working on them. I hover for a second, thumb over the screen.

This is stupid. I’m going to swipe right on a stranger I don’t know, and then what? We talk for two days, and he ghosts? Or worse, he doesn’t ghost.

But then I think about how quiet the apartment is. How sometimes I sit on the couch with the TV on just for background noise, not even watching, just pretending I’m not alone. How I’ve started narrating my own day in my head like I’m talking to someone because silence feels like a hand over my mouth.

So, I swipe.

It’s an instant match.

The app vibrates in my hand, like it’s excited for me.

Xander has already messaged. My finger hovers over the keyboard, but for a moment, I don’t type anything. Because this feeling—this fluttering brightness that makes my chest tighten—is dangerous in its own way. It has been so long since anyone has looked at me without calculation. I’m not used to softness. I’m used to earning attention. Performing for it. Shrinking myself into something manageable so no one feels overwhelmed by me.

But when I read his message again, it doesn’t feel like a test. It feels like an invitation.

Xander

So, important question. What’s your go-to comfort movie?

Not ‘hey.’ Not ‘wyd?’ Not ‘where are you?’

A normal question. A real one.

I stare at it for way longer than I should before I answer.

The reply bubble pops up almost instantly, and I watch three blinking dots appear and disappear, like he starts messages and deletes them until he settles on the right one. No one has ever been thoughtful with me like that.

It’s so small. A stupid app. Strangers typing behind tiny screens.

But for the first time in a long time, someone wants to know my comfort movie instead of my measurements. Someone wants to know what I feel rather than what I can offer.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

That alone is new. Most of the guys let the match sit like a trophy or say something like, ‘Hey sexy,’ which is not actually a conversation starter no matter how many of them think it is.