My online buddy

My Online Buddy Mora never believed much in online friendships. She treated the internet like a cluttered marketplace—noisy, unpredictable, and full of people promising things they didn’t mean. So when she joined f*******: again after months of ignoring it, she expected nothing more than the usual birthday reminders and a few random memes. But that was before Andy showed up. It started with a simple comment. Mora had posted a sarcastic quote about how people seemed nicer to strangers online than in real life. Beneath it, a reply popped up from someone she didn’t know: “Maybe strangers are just friends we haven’t scared away yet.” She didn’t react right away. She had rules about strangers. She didn’t add them, didn’t respond to them, didn’t entertain them. But something about that comment—soft, joking, oddly optimistic— made her hesitate. She clicked on his profile. His name was Andy. He looked friendly enough. A warm smile, a messy head of hair, and photos of him hiking or laughing with a big group of friends. He didn’t seem fake or creepy. Still, Mora frowned at her phone. But then he messaged her. Andy: Sorry if the comment was weird. I really just liked what you posted. Hope you’re having a good day. A tiny part of her softened. She didn’t want to admit it, but kindness—genuine kindness—always caught her off guard. Mora: It wasn’t weird. Just unexpected. And thanks, I guess. That “guess” turned into a conversation. And that conversation somehow turned into another one the next day, and the next, until Mora found herself looking forward to his “Good morning, grumpy queen” message more than her first cup of coffee. Andy was lovely. Sweet to a fault. He listened to her rants, laughed at her dry humor, and never ran out of silly stories about his day. Mora wasn’t used to someone like him—someone patient, warm, and annoyingly cheerful. To her own surprise, the walls she guarded so fiercely began to soften, just a little. One evening, they were teasing each other about whose personality was worse. Andy claimed he was the sunshine in their friendship, and Mora insisted she was totally pleasant “if people behaved themselves.” Andy laughed through text, and then he wrote it: Andy: You know what? You’re my sweet little demon. Mora froze. Demon? She read it again. Her jaw tightened. Mora: Excuse you? Why would you call me a demon? A moment passed. Then another. She could almost feel Andy panicking through the screen. Andy: Wait— no! Not like that! I was teasing! You know, like… mischievous. Not evil. Cute. Like a tiny chaotic thing. Mora frowned even harder. Cute? Chaotic? That wasn’t helping. Mora: Still sounds like you’re calling me a monster. Andy: No no no— not a monster. Never that. I meant it affectionately. I swear. Okay okay, let me fix it. How about… my sweet little bunny? Mora blinked. A bunny? The contrast was so dramatic, so ridiculously soft, she couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped out. She even snorted— though she’d never admit that part. Mora: A bunny? Seriously? That’s even worse. Andy: Nope. Too late. It’s official. You’re my sweet little bunny now. Much better than demon, right? She rolled her eyes so hard they almost hurt, but her lips were fighting a smile. Mora: Maybe… maybe it’s better. Andy replied instantly. Andy: You’re smiling. I know you are. Mora: No, I’m not. Andy: Liar. Despite herself, she felt warmth settle into her chest— an unfamiliar, fluttery feeling she couldn’t quite shake off. She didn’t like being teased, and she’d almost snapped at him for it. But the truth was simple and almost embarrassing: She liked that he cared enough to fix it. Over the next days, “sweet little bunny” became his favorite nickname for her. Sometimes he shortened it to “bunny,” sometimes he added “my,” which never failed to make her heart stutter. And Mora—who claimed she didn’t do feelings, softness, or romantic nonsense—found herself saving his messages, rereading them when she couldn’t sleep, smiling at his voice notes, and waiting for his gentle teasing like it was part of her day. Maybe Andy really was the sunshine of their friendship. And maybe, just maybe, Mora didn’t mind being his little bunny after all. Absolutely Chapter 2 — The Call Mora liked to pretend she wasn’t waiting for Andy’s messages. She’d scroll casually, check her notifications as if she didn’t care, and tell herself she was only online because she was bored. But the truth was embarrassingly simple: She liked talking to him. Too much, maybe. So when her phone stayed quiet longer than usual one evening, she felt an unexpected tug of disappointment. No silly greeting, no teasing nickname, no overly cheerful check-in. Just silence. She tried not to notice. Tried not to refresh the chat. Tried not to wonder if she’d somehow scared him off. But by the time the clock blinked close to midnight, she gave up the act and sighed. “Fine,” she muttered, tapping open their conversation. Still nothing. She typed quickly before she could talk herself out of it. Mora: You alive? She stared at the message, instantly regretting how needy it looked. She almost threw her phone across the room when it buzzed in her hand a heartbeat later. Andy: BUNNY. I am so sorry. Today was chaos. Andy: Want me to make it up to you? She exhaled, relief washing through her in a way she absolutely refused to analyze. Mora: Maybe. Depends how. Andy: …What if I call you? Mora’s fingers froze over the screen. A call? A voice? His voice? They’d only ever texted. That was her rule. Text was safe. Text let her think, edit, retreat if she needed to. A call was different—closer, real, risky. She started typing No, then erased it. Typed Sure, erased it. Typed I don’t do calls, deleted that too. Her pulse betrayed her by speeding up. Mora: Why? Andy: Because I missed you. Andy: And because I want to hear what a grumpy bunny sounds like at midnight. She groaned, hiding her burning face behind her hands. He was too much. Too bold. Too sweet. Too… everything. Her phone vibrated again. Andy: I promise I won’t be weird. Andy: …Okay, maybe a little weird. But like, cute weird. Andy: Just say yes. Andy: Or at least say “ugh fine.” Her laugh escaped before she could stop it. He knew her too well already. Mora: Ugh. Fine. The call came immediately. Her heart leapt. She stared at the screen as it buzzed, the name “Andy 🌞” she’d definitely not added herself glowing up at her. She swallowed hard and answered. “Hi,” she said, softer than she expected. For a moment there was only breath on the other side — warm, nervous, a little shaky. Then: “Hi, bunny.” His voice was… Different. Boyish, warm, carrying a smile she could actually hear. Her stomach flipped. “You’re late,” she said, trying to sound bored. “I know,” he replied, sounding genuinely apologetic. “And I hated it. I kept thinking you were annoyed with me.” Mora blinked. “Why would I be annoyed?” “You always sound annoyed,” he teased lightly. “It’s part of your charm.” She rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “You’re impossible.” “But you answered,” he said, and something soft slipped into his tone — gentle, grateful, real. Mora didn’t know how to respond to that. No one ever sounded happy just because she showed up. So she settled for sarcasm. “Only because you begged.” “I did not beg.” “You practically grovelled.” He laughed — the kind of laugh that made her shoulders relax, made something warm unfurl inside her. “Okay, maybe I grovelled,” he admitted. “But worth it.” She pressed the phone closer, hating how quickly she melted. They talked for an hour. Then two. Then three. About bad work days, dumb childhood stories, the moon outside Mora’s window, the weird noises in Andy’s apartment that he swore were ghosts but were definitely just old pipes. At some point, she realized he had stopped teasing. “Hey, Mora?” he murmured. “Hm?” “I’m really glad I met you.” Her heart stuttered, tripped, then spun uncontrollably. She almost said something vulnerable. Almost. Instead, she whispered, “Don’t get sappy on me.” He laughed quietly. “Too late.” When they finally hung up, the sky outside was hinting at dawn. Mora lay back on her bed, phone resting on her chest, her pulse a fluttery mess she absolutely wasn’t ready to unpack. She was in trouble. Big trouble. Because she realized something she hadn’t wanted to admit: She didn’t just like talking to Andy. She liked him. A lot. And maybe, just maybe… He liked her too. Chapter 3 — The Photo The morning after their marathon phone call, Mora woke up with her phone still in her hand and a soft, stupid smile on her face. Disgusting. She sat up quickly, clearing her throat like she could physically cough out the softness. No way was she going to be the kind of girl who giggled over some guy’s voice. Even if his voice was… nice. Really nice. Irritatingly nice. She checked her notifications. Nothing from Andy yet. Good. Or… bad? Or whatever. She tossed the phone aside and got up to start her day, pretending she wasn’t waiting for it to buzz. When it finally did, she flinched like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Andy: Morning, bunny. Andy: You awake or still pretending to hate mornings? She smirked despite herself. Mora: I don’t pretend. I genuinely hate mornings. Andy: Fair. Andy: …Hey, can I ask something kinda bold? She raised a brow. With Andy, “bold” could mean anything from “Do you like pancakes?” to “Want to run away and start a llama farm?” Mora: Ask. Andy: Can I see you? Mora froze. What did that mean? See her how? Video? In person? A drawing?? Her heart sprinted straight into her throat. Before she could spiral too hard, another message popped up. Andy: Not like— a call. Andy: Just… a picture. Andy: I don’t need anything fancy. I just want to put a face to the voice I kept smiling at last night. Her cheeks warmed so fast it almost hurt. A picture. Of her. Instantly, her brain flooded with all the reasons she hated photos — wrong angles, bad lighting, looking too serious, too tired, too her. But Andy had asked so gently she couldn’t even be annoyed. She typed, deleted, typed again. Mora: Why? Andy: Because I like knowing you. Andy: And because I want to look at you when I tease you. She covered her face with her hand. He was impossible. And unfair. And way too good at making her melt. She snapped a quick selfie without thinking — then made the horrible mistake of actually looking at it. Nope. Absolutely not. She looked tense. Stiff. Overly aware of the camera. Her finger hovered over the trash icon. Then she paused. Andy didn’t make her feel judged. He made her feel… seen. And for once, she decided not to overthink herself into paralysis. Mora: Don’t make fun of it. Andy: I would never. Mora: I swear to God, Andy— Andy: SEND IT SEND IT SEND IT— She rolled her eyes and hit send before she could change her mind. The moment it delivered, panic slammed into her. Oh God. What if he hated it? What if he thought she looked weird? What if— Her phone vibrated. Andy: Mora. Andy: Holy crap. Andy: You’re beautiful. Her breath caught. Beautiful? Her? She stared at the words like they were written in a different language. Her fingers trembled over the keyboard. Mora: Shut up. Andy: No. Andy: I mean it. Andy: And I’m smiling like an i***t right now because you look EXACTLY how I imagined. She sat down on the edge of her bed, heart thundering. Mora: How did you imagine me? Andy: Sharp eyes. Andy: Soft smile you pretend you don’t have. Andy: A kind of beautiful that sneaks up on you. Andy: …I was right. Her chest tightened with a feeling she didn’t have a name for yet — something like fear, something like hope. She swallowed hard. Mora: You’re dramatic. Andy: Maybe. Andy: But still right. A moment later, another message appeared. Andy: My turn? Her stomach flipped. Mora: Sure. Andy: I’ll send you the least embarrassing one. Mora: So… none of them? Andy: RUDE. Andy: Okay okay gimme a sec. She waited — nervous, excited, trying not to show either. Then the photo arrived. Andy, smiling at the camera with hair slightly messy, eyes crinkled, sunlight hitting him in the softest way. Warm. Gentle. Exactly how he sounded. Mora’s heart did something traitorous. She typed slowly: Mora: …Hi. Andy: Hi what? Mora: Hi, handsome. There was a long pause. Then: Andy: Bunny. Andy: Don’t play with me like that. Andy: I might fall harder. Mora shut her eyes. Too late, she thought. Way too late. Chapter 4 — The Wrong Message Things had been good. Suspiciously good. Every morning, Mora woke up to some version of “Good morning, bunny,” sometimes accompanied by a goofy selfie of Andy half-asleep, other times a meme that made her snort into her coffee. They talked constantly. They joked constantly. And somewhere in the quiet corners of her heart, Mora had begun to trust the rhythm of it. Which was why the silence hit harder. It started late one evening. Andy had been replying normally all day… until he wasn’t. His messages slowed, then stopped altogether. Maybe he was busy, she told herself. Maybe he fell asleep. Maybe— Her phone lit up. A new message from Andy. But it wasn’t sent to her. It was sent to the wrong chat, and somehow also sent to her. A picture. A girl — smiling brightly at the camera, leaning close to him. She was pretty. Very pretty. And below it, a text: Andy: I had such a good time today. You always make everything better. Mora’s stomach dropped. Her chest tightened. Her breath came sharp and uneven. Today? He never mentioned meeting someone. He never said he had plans. Her first thought wasn’t anger. It was stupidity. Of course he had someone. Of course he wasn’t hers. Of course she’d gotten carried away with a warm voice and a sunshine smile. Her phone vibrated again. Andy: WAIT— Andy: MORA NO— Andy: I meant to send that to my friend— Andy: Let me explain— Andy: PLEASE don’t disappear— But Mora was already sinking, fast and deep into the old familiar place she hated — that cold, heavy pit where she convinced herself she didn’t matter as much as she thought she did. Her fingers moved before she could stop them. Mora: You don’t owe me an explanation. Andy: NO— I DO— Mora: You can talk to whoever you want. Andy: Bunny, please listen— Mora: It’s fine. I don’t care. Andy: I CARE. She stared at that last message for a long time. Her heart wanted to believe him. Her brain wouldn’t let her. He kept typing. Andy: She’s my cousin. Andy: We grabbed lunch because she’s moving out of state. Andy: I swear to you— Andy: You’re the one I care about. Andy: I didn’t tell you because I thought it wasn’t a big deal. Andy: I was wrong. Andy: Please don’t pull away. Mora’s throat tightened painfully. She didn’t know what hurt more — the idea that the girl wasn’t a threat, or the fact that her first instinct had been to assume she wasn’t enough. Another message. This one longer. Andy: If I liked someone else, I wouldn’t be here every day talking to you until 3 a.m. Andy: I wouldn’t call you. Andy: I wouldn’t save your picture like it’s my lockscreen. Andy: I’m not interested in anyone else. Andy: Just you. Andy: Only you. Her breath caught. He could’ve been lying. Or exaggerating. Or trying to soften the situation. But something in those words… felt real. Too real. Still, her insecurities clung tight. Mora: I don’t want to be stupid about this. Andy: You’re not. Mora: I just… don’t like feeling like an option. His reply came instantly. Andy: You’re not an option. Andy: You’re the choice. Her heart cracked open just a fraction. Then: Andy: Mora, am I losing you? Mora: …No. Andy: Can I call you? Mora: Not right now. Andy: Okay. Andy: Just tell me when. I’ll wait. She set down her phone, staring at the ceiling, emotions spinning like a storm she couldn’t outrun. This wasn’t fixed. Not yet. But it wasn’t broken either. It was something else— Something fragile and terrifying and hopeful all at once. She wasn’t sure what to call it yet. But for the first time in her life, Mora realized something: She wanted to try. Great — I’ll continue the story with Chapter 5: The Call (their emotional reconciliation). Mora didn’t mean to wait as long as she did. She told herself she needed time — to think, to breathe, to stop spiraling into what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. But hours slipped by, and the longer she stayed silent, the heavier the guilt sat in her stomach. Andy hadn’t messaged again. Not once. Not even a “?” or a “you okay?” He meant what he said. He would wait for her. And somehow… that made her want to stop running. By the time the sun dipped behind the buildings, painting the room a soft amber, she finally picked up her phone. Her fingers hovered. Then: Mora: Can you talk? The reply came in three seconds. Andy: Yes. Absolutely. Andy: Want me to call? Her heartbeat thudded unevenly. She typed one letter. Mora: Yes. The call rang once — just once — before she answered. She didn’t speak at first. Neither did he. All she heard was Andy’s breath: shaky, like he’d been holding it all day. Then softly: “Mora?” She closed her eyes. His voice. Why did it always make everything feel real? “Hi,” she whispered. He exhaled, long and unsteady. “Okay, good. I was honestly terrified you were gonna block me.” “I almost did,” she admitted. He let out a strangled noise. “Please don’t joke like that. My soul can only take so much in one day.” Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped her. She heard him smile at the sound. But the warmth faded as quickly as it came. “Andy… I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” “No,” he said immediately. “I should’ve told you I was out with Lily. I didn’t think it mattered, but it mattered to you, and that’s on me.” She sighed. “I just… I saw the picture and I thought—” “That you weren’t enough,” he finished gently. Silence. The kind that reveals instead of hides. “I hate,” Andy continued softly, “that someone made you feel that way. I hate that your first reaction was to assume you didn’t matter.” Her throat tightened. “It’s not your fault.” “Maybe not,” he said. “But I want to be someone who doesn’t add to that.” For a moment, she had no idea what to say. Her emotions felt raw, stretched thin between fear and longing. “Andy…” she whispered. “Why do you care so much?” He laughed quietly — not amused, but almost incredulous. “Are you kidding?” he said. “I care because it’s you. Because you make every day better. Because I think about your stupid sarcasm and your sleepy voice and how you pretend you don’t smile at your phone when you do.” She swallowed hard. “And,” he added, softer now, “because I’ve… started liking you more than I should.” Her breath caught. More than he should. More than friends. More than casual flirting. “Andy…” she began, heart pounding. “No, wait,” he said suddenly, voice trembling. “You don’t have to say anything back. I just want you to know. And I want to take things at your pace. If you need slow, I can do slow. If you need reassurance every hour, I can do that too. Just—don’t pull away from me.” The words hit something deep inside her — a bruise she didn’t realize she was still nursing. “I don’t want to pull away,” she said truthfully. “I’m just… scared.” “I know,” he whispered. “But you’re allowed to be scared. I’ll stay anyway.” Her eyes burned. No one had ever said something like that to her. Not without conditions. Not without disappearing after. “And Mora?” “Yeah?” she breathed. “I meant what I said this afternoon,” he said, voice impossibly gentle. “You’re not an option. You’re the choice.” Her walls cracked — not shattered, not crumbled — just enough to let the light slip in. “I like you too,” she whispered, barely audible. Andy sucked in a breath so sharp she could hear it. “You do?” “Yeah,” she said, cheeks warming. “More than I should.” He laughed — a relieved, disbelieving, boyish sound. “Oh my god. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that.” Her heart fluttered traitorously. “Andy?” “Yes?” “Don’t hurt me,” she said, small and vulnerable. His voice softened to something like a promise. “I won’t. I swear, bunny.” And for the first time in a long time, Mora believed someone Chapter 6 — The First Video Call Mora had no idea why she agreed. One minute she was curled up on the couch, replaying the softness in Andy’s voice from their talk the night before. The next minute, he was texting her with reckless confidence: Andy: Bunny. Andy: I have a bold idea. Andy: A terrifyingly bold idea. She sighed. Mora: What now? Andy: Video call. Mora: No. Andy: Please? Mora: Absolutely not. Andy: I’ll give you three reasons why we should. Mora: Don’t. Andy: 1) I want to see your face. Andy: 2) I miss your voice. Andy: 3) I’m cute. She almost dropped her phone. Mora: That last one is not a reason. Andy: It absolutely is. He waited a few seconds. Then: Andy: Okay. Your turn. One reason we shouldn’t. Mora: I look terrible today. Andy: Impossible. Mora: My hair is a mess. Andy: Love messy hair. Mora: I’m in a giant hoodie. Andy: Adorable. Mora: I’m not wearing makeup. Andy: Even better. Mora: You’re being annoying again. Andy: That’s a reason for the call, not against. Andy: Let me annoy you in 1080p. She buried her face in her pillow to hide a smile — and also to muffle the scream forming in her chest. This was too much. Too close. Too real. Texting was safe. Calling was scary. Video? Video was intimate. There was no hiding behind timing or emojis or silence. He would see her. Really see her. And that terrified her more than she wanted to admit. Her phone buzzed again: Andy: Just for a minute. Andy: One minute. Andy: If you hate it, we stop. Andy: No pressure. Andy: I just… want to look at you. Her heart folded in on itself. He wasn’t trying to push her. He was trying to meet her halfway. And somehow, that made her want to try. So before she could talk herself out of it — before her anxiety could claw its way up her throat — she typed: Mora: …Fine. Andy: OH MY GOD Mora: ONE MINUTE. Andy: ONE MINUTE I PROMISE I’M SWEATY AND EXCITED— Mora: Stop typing. Then the video call came through. Mora stared at the screen until her reflection glared back at her — messy hair, hoodie, bare face. She winced. “No backing out,” she whispered to herself. “He likes you. He literally said he likes you. You can do this.” She took a deep breath, pressed accept, and— Andy appeared instantly. Warm smile. Bright eyes. Hair sticking up slightly, like he’d been nervously running his hands through it. His cheeks were flushed — either from excitement or panic; maybe both. “Hi,” he breathed, eyes softening the moment he saw her. Mora froze. He was looking at her like she was sunrise. Like she was something worth pausing for. Like she wasn’t just a girl in a hoodie with messy hair. “Hi,” she whispered back. He leaned closer to his camera, squinting dramatically. “Oh my god,” he said softly. “You’re even prettier in motion.” She covered her face with her hands. “No. No, don’t say that.” He laughed — a low, warm sound that curled right under her ribs. “Why?” he teased gently. “It’s true.” “You’re insufferable.” “And yet you still answered.” She dropped her hands, glaring halfheartedly at him. He grinned wider. “You’re blushing,” he said. “I am not.” “You absolutely are.” “Shut up.” “I love this,” he said quietly. She blinked. “What?” “Seeing you,” he answered. “Seeing you react. Seeing you try not to smile. Hearing you tell me to shut up in real time.” Her chest tightened. She didn’t know what to do with this feeling — this warm, fluttery wrong-right feeling that made her want to hide and lean closer at the same time. The one-minute mark passed. They didn’t notice. Soon they were talking about everything — her day, his chaotic attempts at cooking, a pigeon that had tried to attack him last week — and she laughed more than she meant to. And every single time she did, Andy’s expression softened like he’d discovered something rare. Eventually she checked the time. “Andy,” she sighed, “it’s been like 40 minutes.” He blinked innocently. “Has it?” “Yes.” “Huh.” He leaned his cheek into his palm. “Time goes fast when I’m looking at someone cute.” She groaned. “You’re going to kill me.” He smiled slowly, sincerely. “No,” he said. “I’m going to like you. A lot. And hopefully… you’ll let me.” Mora’s heart did something stupid. Something irreversible. And before she could stop herself, before fear could win, she whispered: “I think I already do.” Andy’s eyes widened, pupils dilating in real time. “Oh,” he said softly, breath catching. “Good. That’s… really good.” That was the moment she realized something dangerous: He wasn’t going to be easy to get over. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Absolutely — here is Chapter 7, blending all the elements you mentioned: ✔ Andy telling his friends about her ✔ Mora dealing with jealousy ✔ Their first soft, realistic fight ✔ A moment where they almost confess ✔ A near-meeting plan All woven into one chapter. --- Chapter 7 — Almost, Almost Andy was glowing. Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Physically glowing — according to his best friend, Liam, who squinted at Andy across the café table like he had discovered a new species. “You’re smiling,” Liam said, pointing. “Like… a lot.” “No, I’m not.” “You absolutely are.” Andy tried to hide behind his coffee cup. “Shut up.” Liam leaned back, smirking. “So. Who is she?” Andy choked. “I never said—” “You didn’t have to. You’ve got that ‘I like someone’ face. It’s disgusting, honestly.” Andy felt his ears burning. This was exactly why he hadn’t said anything. His friends were vultures when it came to teasing. He thought about lying. He really did. But then Mora’s face flashed behind his eyes, and the lie dissolved. “…Her name’s Mora,” he admitted softly. Liam’s eyes widened. “Andy. My boy. You’re serious.” Andy rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean… yeah. I guess I am.” “A picture. Show me.” Andy immediately hid his phone. “No. Absolutely not. You guys don’t get to drool over her.” “Drool—?! Oh, you’re gone. You’re actually gone.” Andy groaned. But he was gone. Totally, hopelessly, embarrassingly gone. --- Meanwhile — Mora Mora didn’t consider herself jealous. She considered herself… vigilant. She wasn’t scrolling through Andy’s post comments on purpose. It just happened that everyone who ever breathed near him on social media posted something ridiculously cheerful. And then she saw it. A comment from some girl under a photo of him and his friends: You’re cute, Andy. Text me later? 😉 Mora’s stomach knotted. She told herself it meant nothing. She told herself she didn’t care. She told herself she wasn’t that kind of girl. Then she found herself staring at her phone, arms crossed, already annoyed. Andy texted her five minutes later. Andy: