The Puck’s Bunny

Ch.8

EROS

Silence can be perilous for someone like me. It amplifies my thoughts more than I wish. I ought to call it a night. I should power down, switch off, yet here I am, opening the FeelMe app. I didn't create FeelMe for profit.

Honestly, I never sought out another source of income. As the leader of a fantastic hockey team, I manage businesses that operate smoothly on their own, and I have investments that generate profits while I rest. However, Feelme was unique. It was the sole project I developed that wasn't intended for limitless growth or market domination.

It was something close to my heart.

The algorithm is intentionally straightforward. It starts with an extensive questionnaire—covering values, frustrations, fears, and those thoughts people typically keep to themselves. After that, it presents a select few potential matches. Not hundreds. Not thousands. Just a handful. You have the option to reject all of them if you wish.

No pressure.

I recall gazing at the list the evening I registered, my thumb lingering over the screen longer than I would care to admit. And I selected Love. She could have turned me down. She chose not to. That holds more significance than I allow myself to ponder. She picked me when she had other options.

I opted for the name Love because solitude has a tendency to seep in when you possess so much yet still feel misjudged. When individuals observe the exterior and presume they already comprehend the entirety.

FeelMe is effective only if both individuals desire anonymity. No faces. No names. No personal information. Just sincerity without judgment. Anyone who engages with it recognizes that principle.

Bright understands me. Not in an overtly dramatic sense, but in a subtle, disquieting manner that causes me to hesitate before I type. Our personalities resonate as if we are communicating in the same dialect. We've never engaged in flirtation. We've never crossed that boundary.

Yet, the knowledge that she is always just a message away instills a sense of... security within me. And that frightens me. Because my greatest fear isn't her discovering my true self.

It's the thought of her vanishing one day, logging off, and never returning, without so much as a farewell. It shouldn't be significant. A faceless individual on the internet shouldn't capture any of my focus. Her absence shouldn't carry any weight.

My heart races just a bit when I notice Bright's username shining online. She hasn't been active for days. When she vanished, I felt a slight, unwelcome tug in my chest. It was something akin to disappointment. Frustration. And if I'm being completely honest with myself, a hint of sadness that it marked the end of... whatever this was.

I dive into the chat before I can second-guess myself. I start by asking her where she’s been all this time. The tension in my shoulders dissipates; she's okay—absurd, considering I've never seen her face, never heard her voice, never known anything real about her.

Yet, somehow, she's the only person I communicate with like this. The only one I can share my thoughts with without feeling the weight of my past lurking behind me.

As our conversation begins, Bright shares her recent challenges. My thoughts involuntarily drift to Claire. I try to dismiss her image from my mind.

Bright: I despise the sensation of being judged by the world before I've had a chance to show who I really am. It feels like everyone has already made up their minds about me without truly knowing me.

A tightness grips my chest—the same warning I choose to ignore each time.

Love: Believe me, I understand that feeling more than most.

I shouldn't have sent that message. It's too close to reality. Before I can feel regret, her response pops up.

Bright: I'm really happy you're here, even if it's only through a screen.

I close my eyes for a moment. What am I doing?

What is it about this stranger that brings a sense of calm within me? Why does her sincerity touch the parts of me I try to ignore?

And why does her return tonight feel like a breath of fresh air? I redirect the conversation.

Love: For what it's worth, I'm facing something similar. A new person has arrived at work. Unpredictable. Difficult to read. They might be concealing things.

My finger lingers above the send button for a moment, as the reality is more painful than I care to acknowledge. I witnessed that news article slip from Claire's bag. I shouldn't experience the sting of doubt or the deeper sting of guilt for jumping to conclusions. Yet, I hit send regardless. Her reply comes right away.

Bright: Perhaps they aren't concealing anything negative. Maybe they're simply feeling overwhelmed. Or afraid of making an error.

Bright always manages to do that, cutting through the chaos with clarity.

Love: Or perhaps they're precisely the kind of complication I don't want to deal with.

Bright: Challenges add excitement to life.

A humorless sigh escapes me.

Love: I like things to be predictable.

Bright: That's dull.

Then she types randomly....

Bright: When the air carries the fragrance of damp soil and far-off storms, that's the scent I adore.

Love: Petrichor.

Bright: What do you mean?

Love: It's the aroma that arises when rain falls on the ground.

Bright: I take that back, you're actually quite interesting.

I find myself shaking my head at the screen, struggling to suppress a smile that really shouldn't be appearing. Our chat flows, becomes lighter, and feels effortless once more. With each message she sends, I feel a part of me relax. She cracks jokes and playfully calls me "grumpy." I respond by saying she's being overly dramatic. In return, she sends a laughing emoji that, for reasons I can't quite understand, fills my chest with warmth.

But eventually, she types:

Bright: I should sleep. Big day again, tomorrow.

Love: Goodnight, Bright.

She signs off. The screen dims. The silence that envelops the room afterward weighs heavily on me. I lean back, gazing at my dull monitor, my own

reflection barely visible in the glass. I shouldn't be concerned about someone I don't know. I shouldn't feel anything whatsoever. Yet, I do. I long for her absence. I'm grateful when she returns. I have more faith in her than in nearly anyone else in my actual life.

And that's risky. Perhaps if she ever discovered my true identity...she would flee.