That stifling summer, I spent most of my time sitting in the second row by the window. Maybe you never even noticed me in my corner. Let’s just call him "J." It feels more appropriate that way. In the dead of night, a viral post suddenly flickered onto my phone screen. ... [I was deeply saddened to hear about your current situation.] [You were the golden boy of our class. The math teacher’s favorite, the one the physics teacher used to joke was his "star disciple."] [And yet, you chose to drop out for the sake of the "it-girl" from the rival school.] [After all these years, I only have one question.] [Are you doing okay now?] The delicate prose never explicitly mentioned unrequited love, yet every syllable was drenched in it. The comment section was a sea of sympathy for the author and vitriol for "J’s" decision to throw his life away. The "it-girl"—sketched in just a few strokes of the pen—was being torn apart by the masses. I was so irritated that I nudged my husband awake. He was snoring softly beside me. "Are you doing okay now?!" I hissed. Blinking away sleep, Jude instinctively pulled my arm toward him and kissed it. "Honey... mmm... so tired." Seeing the dark circles under Jude’s eyes, my heart softened. He had just pulled three consecutive all-nighters for his research and had finally managed to crawl home for a few hours of shut-eye. "Go back to sleep," I whispered. Jude seemed like he wanted to say something, but the pull of exhaustion was too strong. Within seconds, he was out again. In the minutes that followed, that post racked up over a million likes. The internet was in a state of collective mourning. [Young love is like a spring rain,] one comment read. [Fine and persistent, soaking into your heart until it’s cold. Every year you ask yourself: do you regret never speaking up?] [Sweetie, I think he definitely liked you back. This is so tragic.] [This was clearly a mutual pining situation. If either of them had taken one step forward, that other girl wouldn't have stood a chance. J wouldn't have ruined his life.] [Youth is nothing but a collection of regrets. The author’s words are breaking my heart at 2:00 AM. I hope you find someone better.] A few skeptics chimed in. [Maybe the author’s feelings for J weren't romantic? Not everything has to be a soulmate drama.] [How could she not love him?] someone shot back. The writing was exquisite, the emotions raw. It focused on those small, agonizingly vivid moments that define a crush. I should have been moved. But there was a problem: the "fallen hero" of the story was my husband, Jude Callahan. The author’s description of "J" was so meticulous that I recognized him instantly. But I wasn't just some bystander in this narrative. I was the "it-girl." The one who supposedly dragged the protagonist into the mud and ruined his future. And according to the comments, I was the villain. [I always had a bias against girls who spent too much time on their appearance back in school. Turns out, I was right.] [The prettier they are, the more dangerous they are. Look at this—his whole life, destroyed.] [The author says their school was the top public academy in the state, but the 'belle' was from the private school next door. Tell me you see the red flag.] [Poor J. A brilliant life wasted on a girl like that.] [He’ll regret it. He probably already does. He didn't have the courage to be with the author, but he threw away his future for a distraction.] [Haha, J is probably sitting in some cramped rental right now, cursing that girl for wasting his potential.] [He didn't know what was worth holding onto until it was too late.] Almost everyone blamed me for Jude’s "downfall." The author included. Between her lines was a thick layer of resentment and "what-ifs." In her story, Jude was a sun that had been eclipsed. I was the one who pulled him into the abyss. [May 2018. Sunny. The teacher was explaining the final physics problem. No one understood it, but you got it right on the first try. I wanted to ask you about it, but I was afraid my ignorance would make you laugh. So, I started working harder.] Short, poignant entries detailed how the author pushed herself academically just to keep Jude in her sights. [Sweetie, you’re such a good soul.] [Your hard work wasn't for nothing. Loving someone means rising to their level, not letting them sink into the shadows with you.] [That’s the difference between you and that other girl. You would have walked beside him toward his future. Instead, his future is gone, and you’re the one who succeeded.] [I can't stop sighing. J chose the wrong person.] The "J chose the wrong person" comment became the top-rated response, with thousands of people nesting their agreement beneath it. But then, one user asked: [Did J actually like the author?] [He could drop out for the 'it-girl,' so why didn't he ever confess to the author?] A debate erupted. By 2:00 AM, the author appeared in the comments. She didn't say much, just a simple "Goodnight." She told everyone not to argue. "My story with J ended ten years ago. Our paths won't cross again." But her words only fueled the fire. [It’s 2:00 AM and you’re still awake. What are you thinking about?] [Probably thinking about the teenage version of J.] [I counted. This post is 8,976 words. Darling, how long did it take you to write this?] [Remember, everyone, this is just a snippet. Her teenage diaries are probably filled with nothing but him.] [Are you okay now, honey? Have you found someone better than J?] The author didn't reply again. I turned off my phone. I believed her words—or at least, her memory of them. In my mind, Jude had always been a kind, warm person. The next morning, Jude was already gone before I headed to the office. He was wrapping up the final stages of a research project and was likely already at the airport for his flight. While I was getting ready, I reflexively opened the app again. The author—who had previously claimed this was a burner account and wouldn't be updated—had posted again. It was a selfie video. Under the bright sun, a girl in a white-and-blue dress was beaming at the camera. [Holy crap, she looks like a first love!] [She has such a pure, cute smile. She’s precious.] [Her bio says 'Single.' Does she still love J?] [She’s this beautiful and J didn't go for her? How stunning was that other girl supposed to be?] [Ugh, probably the 'mean girl' type. I’m a girl, and I definitely prefer the author’s vibe.] [Let’s not pit women against each other. Let’s just love the author and let J have his 'it-girl.'] I thought about it for a second and then hit "Follow." The internet is a double-edged sword. Moving prose deserves its traffic. But I wasn't about to stay the villain in a story I didn't write. Within hours, her face-reveal video had hundreds of thousands of likes. Her "burner" account had transformed into a million-follower platform overnight. With just a few thousand words, she had become a sensation. The comments attacking me grew more vicious, and they didn't spare Jude either. [Birds of a feather. Trash belongs with trash.] [Did the 'it-girl' even finish high school?] [Poor J probably didn't even get his GED.] [The right person walks with you toward your future. You made the right choice by not ending up with him.] [Are you a college grad, honey? Where did you go?] The author replied: "I graduated from a top-tier state university. Ivy-equivalent." The hype reached a fever pitch. [Wow! A genius!] [Man, J could have been at Harvard or MIT. He was the star.] [So impressive. J was the golden boy, but you’re the golden girl.] [Maybe the author is romanticizing J too much. Maybe he wasn't actually that great.] [Exactly. The author herself is the real catch here.] Amidst the praise, the author responded again: "No, he really was brilliant." She replied to comment after comment. She talked about how Jude was always at the top of the rankings, how he swept every academic competition. In her telling, Jude was a rare, once-in-a-generation talent. "A talent like that shouldn't have been allowed to fade." [Your writing still loves him.] [Your writing still hates her.] [That girl was the rot that spoiled the whole harvest.] [Otherwise, J and the author would be standing at the top of the world together today.] [You’ve held onto this for so long. Do you really just want to ask him if he’s okay?] People started asking for her location, trying to help her "find" J. She didn't answer. But eagle-eyed users noticed she had liked a specific comment from the night before: [Sweetie, I think he definitely liked you back. This is so tragic.] The comment section exploded. [Even the author thinks it's a tragedy. We have to find him.] [Anyone have J’s contact info? I want to give him a piece of my mind.] [Give me the contact for the girl who dragged him down. I have a few choice words for her.] [So, are you still single because you’re waiting for him?] Seeing that people were starting to doxx Jude and me, I sent the author a private message. "I hope you can respect people's privacy." Her response? She went live that very night. In the livestream, she shared a screenshot of my message. The viewers went ballistic. [I don't even need a second to guess who this is.] [It’s the 'it-girl,' isn't it?] [She’s not afraid of her privacy being leaked; she’s afraid of the truth. She knows she ruined him.] [Wow. The author is just sharing her life story. What does it have to do with her? What a loser.] [Talk about guilty conscience. She was barely a footnote in the essay, and now she’s acting like a victim. She’s probably just jealous the author is going viral.] In the stream, the author—Annabel—bowed slightly toward the camera. "I’m sorry for taking up everyone’s time. I wanted to address the recent content I’ve posted." "First of all, I haven't leaked anyone's private information." [Exactly! Where’s the leak?] [God, she has such 'main character' energy. Love it.] [The Ivy League intellect is showing. So articulate.] "I’m also very grateful for the love you’ve shown my writing. It was just a late-night reflection. I never expected it to blow up like this." A few alumni from her school recognized her in the comments. [Annabel was the commencement speaker for the class of 2018! She’s amazing.] [Yeah, she came back to visit the teachers last year. She’s as kind as she is smart.] Annabel looked directly into the camera, her eyes clear and defiant. "I wrote the story. It was my experience. And yes, I know who sent that message." "Perhaps you’re watching this right now. I want to say: my conscience is clear regarding Jude. But do you owe him an apology?" [Mic drop!] [The 'it-girl' is just lurking because she’s scared of being called out. We see you!] [Since when is writing a memoir against the law?] [Some people think being pretty in high school means the world revolves around them forever. You’re just a supporting character in Annabel’s world, honey.] [A villainous supporting character, at that.] Annabel then urged her followers not to leak anyone’s info. "Please keep the discussion civil. Words can hurt. Thank you." [Okay, okay, if the queen says so, I’ll stop.] [I’m done. She’s not worth the energy anyway.] [What a class act. If my son meets a girl like this, he’s lucky.] Someone asked about Jude again. [Is there really no sequel for you two?] Annabel went quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. "My story might cause him trouble, so I won't be updating this account anymore." After that livestream, I stopped following her. Internet fame is a flash in the pan. Jude was busy, and I wasn't exactly sitting idle. My subsidiary company was preparing for an IPO. Two weeks later, Jude returned from his trip. He looked exhausted, the shadows under his eyes deeper than before. The moment he saw me at the airport, he practically melted into me. "I missed you so much," he mumbles against my neck. I poked his forehead. "We’re at the airport. Get off." He wouldn't let go, so I laughed and took his hand. "Come on. Let’s go home." As we waited for our Uber, I felt eyes on me. A prickle at the back of my neck. In the car, I remembered the viral post and asked, "Do you remember an Annabel?" Jude nodded. "Yeah. She was in my homeroom junior year, I think." "Oh... so you do remember her." Jude caught my tone immediately. "I remember everyone’s name from high school. Why? Do you know her?" I gave him a playful huff. "I didn't. But I do now. Apparently, the two of you were hopelessly in love with each other in secret." Jude looked horrified. "What? No! I never liked anyone else. Since we were kids, it’s only ever been you." Because I wasn't just a "footnote" in Annabel’s story. I was the girl who grew up next door to Jude. We were childhood sweethearts. But Annabel’s story got one thing right. Jude really did drop out of high school because of me.
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