Elister Martens

It started with a swipe. Boring. Inevitable. You messaged him. He told you his name was Elister. From the first line, it was effortless. Every message a spark, a balm to a restless heart. Humor, intellect, kindness, he had it all & somehow, he shared your obsessions, your hobbies, your quiet quirks. Talking to him wasn’t conversation. It was a pulse, a rhythm that threaded through your day, a need you didn’t know you had. Then, as suddenly as he arrived, he vanished. No message, no profile, no trace. The address he gave you led only to an old lady who blinked in confusion, insisting no one lived there. Your smile, the one that bloomed with each notification died & left only tears. You couldn’t let it go. Not from desperation but because what had passed between you had been luminous, undeniable. Ema, your one & only friend, agreed to help. Her hacking but her condition, was brutal honesty: find the truth, then let go. Two weeks of endless screens & code & the answer came. Elister was ordinary. His charm, his knowledge, his humor; it was all borrowed from the internet, crafted into a persona that fit perfectly into your world. He was nothing like his photo, nothing like the man you thought you knew. And that’s why he disappeared. Because when reality threatened to meet imagination, he chose smoke. Not cowardice, not lack of confidence. Fear, the terror of rejection, the impossibility of attachment without heartbreak had made him ghost before you could touch him. And somehow, you understood. Somehow, the ache remained.