duke
NEET
- Dec 29, 2024
- 1,266
Fragments of us
ManletMachine, a 30-year-old mature student, had long since accepted that his life was one of quiet, unnoticed existence. His days at the University of Belfast were spent mostly in solitude, with the only real company being his computer and the endless arguments he’d gotten tangled in on obscure forums late into the night. The university was large enough that nobody seemed to pay him much mind, and he liked it that way. He didn’t need anyone to see him, but he couldn’t escape the part of him that wished someone would.It wasn’t that he wanted friends. He’d tried that before, and it had never worked and besides most of the students there were young enough to be his children. People never understood him—at least, not the way he saw the world. Life had never been easy for him, and it wasn’t like he expected it to get any better. He’d heard enough, seen enough, to know what the world had in store for someone like him.
But then there was Niammh.
She was 22, an English student with a quiet confidence that drove him insane. She wasn’t the kind of person who just blended into the background. No, Niammh stood out with every word she spoke, with every way she moved. They’d first crossed paths on the same forum—one of those spaces where people came together to argue, share opinions, and complain about the world. He’d noticed her early on. Her posts were sharp, full of fire, and—most of all—completely unlike his own. She had opinions that actually made sense, and they made him angry in a way he couldn’t explain. But it was more than that.
Somewhere, buried beneath the sharp edges of their arguments, he had started to think of her differently. She wasn’t just a name on a screen; she became an obsession, a necessity. He craved her.
One day, during a lecture, he found himself staring at her in real life, across the room. She sat a few rows ahead of him, her back straight, her eyes scanning the lecture slides with a focus he couldn’t seem to muster. There was something about the way she carried herself that made the whole room feel brighter. He felt as if he could spend a lifetime just watching her, though he would never dare approach her.
He wasn’t that guy. He wasn’t the kind of guy who walked up to someone like her, full of confidence and charm. No, he was the guy who spent hours trying to pluck up the courage to send a message, only to chicken out at the last second.
But this time, he couldn’t stop himself.
Something in him—something deeper than his usual isolation—pushed him to type.
Hey Niammh, it’s ManletMachine. Small world, huh?
Her reply came quickly. Too quickly.
ManletMachine? Didn’t expect you to be a real person.
That stung. He could feel the words like a slap, but he tried to play it cool, tried to act like it didn’t matter.
Yeah, well, I guess I’m not as much of an online ghost as you thought.
I didn’t think you were a ghost. Just... didn’t think you’d show up in real life.
Her message was quick and biting, and he could hear the sarcasm through the screen. He didn’t know why it hurt, but it did. Still, he pressed on.
It’s nice to see you in person, though. Maybe we could grab a coffee sometime?
Her reply took a little longer this time. He could feel his heart beat louder in his chest as he stared at the screen, waiting.
I don’t think that’s a good idea, ManletMachine.
The words hit him like a punch in the gut. His fingers hovered over the keys, not knowing what to say. What could he say? He had no defense against the truth in her message.
Why not? he typed back, his hands shaking a little. We’re both here, at the same uni, right? Seems like it could be interesting.
I don’t think we’d have much in common, she replied. You’re... different than I thought. I’m not really into getting to know people who think the world owes them something. I'm not into vile incel misogynists.
That was it. The line he had been crossing all along, the line between hope and delusion, had finally shattered. He had no idea how to respond, how to fix this. He felt a weight settle over him, like all the years of bitterness and anger he’d spent hiding behind his screen had caught up to him in that moment.
His mind raced, but the words wouldn’t come. All the reasons he had built up in his head for why things could work with her suddenly felt foolish. He wasn’t some charming, well-spoken guy who could make her laugh or open up. He wasn’t the kind of person she wanted to be around.
I’m not that kind of guy, he finally typed, feeling like a fool. But I just thought... maybe you’d be different.
Her reply was simple.
No, Manlet. I’m not. But maybe you're the one who should try being different.
She logged off before he could type anything back, leaving him staring at the screen, the cold emptiness filling him up in a way he knew all too well.
The rest of the day felt like a blur. He went through the motions of classes, his thoughts a million miles away from everything happening around him. His stomach was twisted in knots, but he didn’t know if it was from the rejection or the realization that maybe she was right—he was the one who had to change.
By the time evening fell, the university grounds were bathed in the kind of dull light that only came at dusk. It made everything feel more real, more empty.
ManletMachine stood in the library for what seemed like hours, staring at the same page in his book, but his mind was a thousand miles away, trying to make sense of everything that had happened.
He was still sitting there when he saw Niammh walk past, her silhouette framed by the fading light. She didn’t see him, or if she did, she ignored him completely. But he couldn’t help the way his heart lurched when he saw her. It was as if, in that brief moment, everything he’d ever wanted had slipped out of his reach.
And in that moment, he realized something else: maybe the loneliness that had always followed him, the bitterness he carried like a heavy coat, was only ever going to get heavier unless he could change. Maybe he couldn’t make Niammh like him, but he could at least make himself different—for once, for himself.
And so, he sat in the empty library, the glow of his screen the only thing lighting the long hours ahead, feeling a weight he knew all too well. The distance between them had always been there—he just hadn’t seen it until now.
