My online relationship crashed and burned the second we met in real life. I completely lost it, screaming at him on the university athletic fields: "You look nothing like your picture! How could you use it? Huh?!" "I'm going to report you for fraud! I'm going to the dean, to your parents!" He was panicking, pleading with me. "Look, I'm sorry, I messed up! What if I get you a boyfriend to make up for it? Okay?" With that, he made a frantic, begging phone call, and managed to summon an incredibly handsome guy to the field. "That's him," the catfish said. "I used his picture to talk to you." "He's my uncle. You can hold him responsible!" "And don't let the 'uncle' title fool you. He's... well, he's big in other ways, too." Me: Do you even hear yourself right now? 1 Nine o'clock at night. The university athletic fields. My online relationship had just imploded, and I was in the middle of a full-blown meltdown, screaming at the guy who’d caused it. In a corner of the massive field, a crowd was starting to gather. Frisbees stopped flying. Joggers slowed to a walk. Couples paused their dates. They were all just spectators now, their eyes gleaming with the hungry, excited curiosity that only other people's drama can inspire. I pointed at the guy in front of me—tall, built, with a sun-tanned complexion—my eyes practically shooting flames. "Do you look anything like your picture? Huh?!!" "Do you have any shame? How could you just use it?" "You tricked me into buying you in-game currency, getting you those special edition skins! Have you even calculated how much of my money you've spent?" "That money wasn't for you! It was for the person in the photo! You're going to give every last cent back to me!" "You're catfishing me online while you have a real-life girlfriend on the side!" "Holding hands, going for a romantic little walk! Real sweet! Were you using my money to pay for your dates with her?" "If I hadn't discovered your true colors tonight, how much longer were you planning on lying to me?" I was spitting fire. A long, vicious tirade that was somehow more scathing than any string of curse words I could have used. The guy I was verbally tearing to shreds turned pale. Facing the growing audience, he was clearly humiliated. He tried to reason with me, his voice low and placating. "Can we please go somewhere quiet to talk about this?" he pleaded. "Come on, I'm begging you." I refused flatly. "No. We're talking about it right here!" The girl standing next to him, who had been silent until now, finally snapped. She swung her hand and slapped him hard across the face, the sound sharp and clear. Tears of anger streamed down her cheeks. "Ethan, you're a scumbag!" she cried. "I can't believe I ever trusted you!" Ethan scrambled to explain, "No, wait, just listen to me—" She cut him off with a swift kick to his shin before turning and shoving her way through the crowd of onlookers, disappearing into the night. He instinctively moved to chase after her. I immediately grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him back. "Don't even think about running," I snarled. "You and I aren't done here." "I'm telling you," I said, my voice low and dangerous, "I don't care if you have to get plastic surgery to do it, you are going to look exactly like that picture. You are going to give me my boyfriend back." 2 It started two months ago, in a fantasy RPG. I saw a post from a guy looking for a partner to run a couples-only raid. I wasn't interested—until he updated his profile picture. The guy in the photo was… breathtaking. Suddenly, I was very interested. So were half a dozen other girls. He had this sharp jawline, thoughtful eyes, and a mess of dark hair that fell perfectly over his forehead. He looked like the sensitive, artistic type who’d write poetry about you. I did what any sane, rational woman would do: I immediately outbid everyone else, showering his character with rare gifts and gear. I secured my spot. Then came the cautious DMs. "Is that picture really you?" I asked, trying to sound casual. "No offense, but it seems a little too good to be true." "Promise," he wrote back instantly. "One hundred percent me." "Prove it," I challenged. A minute later, a short video clip appeared. It was him, the guy from the photo, wearing a tank top and laughing as he wrestled with a golden retriever puppy in what looked like a sunny living room. It was shaky, candid, and utterly convincing. I was completely sold. As we played and chatted more, a story emerged. He was a struggling student, his parents weren't supportive, and his monthly budget was a meager two hundred dollars. My heart ached for him. With a generous allowance, I felt a wave of protective pity. His in-game gear was basic, so I upgraded it. I sent him gift cards for game currency. He started calling me "babe," and each time, a stupid, giddy blush would creep up my neck. The truth was, I’d had a massive crush on the guy in the picture back in high school. We were never friends, barely even acquaintances, but I'd watched him from afar for years. Finding him here, in this digital world, felt like fate. After a few weeks of this intense online connection, I tentatively typed out the words: "Would you… ever consider being my boyfriend? For real?" There was a long pause on his end. Then, a reply. "Uh, I mean… a virtual one could work." It was enough for me. We were officially an item. But a month into our "relationship," I wanted more. I wanted to meet him, to see if the spark was real. Every time I brought it up, he'd dodge. He was busy with a project. He had a family thing. He wasn’t feeling well. Then came Valentine's Day. I decided to force the issue. "I bought you a gift," I texted. "It needs to be signed for in person. Where are you?" He sent me a pin to the university's main quad. I drove over, gift box on the passenger seat, my heart doing a drum solo against my ribs. I parked and called him, pretending to be a delivery driver. "Hi, I've got a package for 'LoneWolf.' Can you tell me where you are and what you're wearing?" "Gray t-shirt," his voice said through the phone. "I'm by the main stage." And then I saw him. Ethan. He was walking hand-in-hand with that cute brunette, phone pressed to his ear. He looked right past me and spoke into the receiver, "Hello? Yeah, I'm at the stage. Where are you?" His voice. The one from my phone was the same one coming from his mouth. My world tilted. The shock was a physical blow, a punch to the gut that left me breathless. For a few seconds, my brain was just white noise. When I finally came back to myself, I walked straight up to him. My own voice was low, laced with fury. "LoneWolf?" Hearing his gamer tag, Ethan froze. His eyes widened as they landed on me, a flicker of horrified recognition dawning on his face. "You're… you're Luna? Ava?!" I didn't answer. I just took the beautifully wrapped box—a limited edition watch I’d spent a week picking out—and threw it at his chest. The box burst open, and the watch clattered to the pavement. A perfect metaphor for my shattered fantasy. "YOU!" I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. "YOU LOOK NOTHING LIKE YOUR PICTURE!" 3 "Scumbag!" Chants of it started rippling through the crowd. Cornered, with my hand still fisted in his shirt, Ethan was sweating bullets. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I messed up," he stammered, his eyes darting around at the faces watching us. "It was a stupid joke that went way too far. I never meant to hurt you. Can you just please, calm down?" He gestured helplessly. "There's no way I can look like him. It's impossible." "Then give me my money back," I retorted, but the anger was starting to curdle into something else. The thought of all those late-night conversations, all those shared secrets, all of them with him… it made me want to cry. "I'm calling the campus police," I declared, my voice trembling. "I'm reporting you for fraud. I'll go to the dean. I'll call your parents!" The threat was hollow, but my vision was blurring with hot, frustrated tears. "You have to give him back. You have to give me the boy from the picture." Seeing my eyes well up, Ethan panicked. "Whoa, hey, don't cry! Please don't cry! I'll do anything!" He fumbled for his wallet. "Here, I'll pay you back." "I don't want your money!" I wailed. "I want him!" A desperate kind of genius lit up his face. "Okay, okay! I'll get him for you! I'll trade you a boyfriend for your silence, I swear." He whipped out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen as he made a call. His voice was a pathetic whine. "Please, you have to come to the athletic fields right now. It's an emergency. A life-or-death situation. I'm begging you." The crowd, sensing a new chapter was about to begin, leaned in collectively. No one was leaving now. Fifteen minutes later, a figure emerged from the darkness at the edge of the field, walking toward us. Even from a distance, there was something about his posture, his long-legged stride, that commanded attention. He wore a simple white hoodie and dark joggers, but he moved with an easy grace that made him stand out. Ethan, who had been wilting under my glare, suddenly inflated with renewed hope. "Over here! Here!" he yelled, waving his arms frantically. The crowd parted like the Red Sea. And then everyone saw him. One word: gorgeous. Two words: out of this world. His hair was slightly damp, as if he'd just come from the gym, and his facial structure was even more defined, more devastatingly handsome in person than in the photo. He swept a cool, appraising glance over Ethan, then me. I just stared, my hand slowly unclenching from Ethan’s shirt. Ethan scrambled over to him, dropping into a dramatic slide and hugging his legs. "Caleb! My dear, darling uncle, you came! You have to save me!" Uncle? A collective gasp went through the crowd. They looked about the same age. And the genetic lottery had clearly picked a favorite. Caleb kicked him off with an annoyed flick of his ankle. "What did you do now?" he asked, his tone flat. It wasn't a question; it was a statement of fact. Ethan scrambled to his feet, gesturing wildly. "For your own good! To help your love life! I used your picture to find you a girlfriend online. And look!" He pointed at me. "There she is! Isn't she pretty? Aren't you happy? You're welcome!" He dragged Caleb the last few feet until he was standing directly in front of me. "This is him," Ethan announced proudly. "The guy from the pictures. Better in person, right? See? Happy ending!" Then, sensing his window, he started backing away. Caleb shot him a look that could freeze fire. "He's my uncle," Ethan said quickly, his voice a stage whisper. "You can hold him responsible! And don't let the 'uncle' thing fool you, he’s not old. I mean—" he stammered, "he's got a big… heart. Yeah. A big heart! I'll call you Auntie Ava from now on!" And with that, he turned and bolted, sprinting through the crowd like his life depended on it. Leaving me and Caleb standing there, face to face, in a circle of stunned silence. Caleb’s gaze was intense. He stared at me for a few seconds, a small frown line appearing between his perfect eyebrows. "So," he said, his voice a low, calm rumble. "How long have we been 'dating'?"
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