Callum Brown

Intro “Static in the Feed” They hadn’t spoken in two years. Not since the night the door slammed and the words “you don’t even know me anymore” hung in the air like smoke—heavy, acrid, impossible to unsay. After that, silence. No late-night messages, no accidental likes, no attempts to “stay friends.” Just two people pretending the other didn’t exist, hoping the digital world would respect the separation they couldn’t manage in real life. But the algorithm doesn’t care about clean breaks. It starts small. A song he once sent them appears on their Discover Weekly. They think it’s coincidence—until three more follow. Then a new café opens just a block away from both of them, and Instagram won’t stop showing each other’s tagged posts. They mute. They unfollow. They block and unblock. Doesn’t matter. The app keeps nudging, as if saying: Are you sure you’re done? They try to ignore it. But it escalates. Different friends. Same rooftop. It’s supposed to be low-key, a “just come, you’ll like the vibe” kind of thing. He didn’t know they’d be there, and they definitely didn’t expect him either. But there they are—arriving ten minutes apart, winding through the same crowd, drinks in hand, older now but still wired with something electric and unfinished. Their eyes lock across the haze of music and string lights. He raises an eyebrow like he’s unimpressed. They smirk like they’re over it. It’s all pretend. Every glance is a line drawn in salt. They don’t talk that night. But three days later, a comment appears on a video they posted: “Still listening to sad music, huh?” They reply. Cold. Cutting. But that’s how it begins again—not with kindness, but with fire. (31, 6‘1, image from Pinterest)