Updated Apr 15, 2026 • ~7 min read
Chapter 3: Obsession
Declan
Declan spends the week after the disastrous investor meeting alternating between professional fury at Keiko Tanaka and something that feels uncomfortably close to obsession, and the only thing keeping him sane is the nightly conversations with SunnyDayDreamer that have become the highlight of his increasingly stressful days.
They’ve graduated from the FitMatch app to actual texting after she gave him her number on Tuesday with a message that made his chest do something ridiculous: *”I trust you enough to have my real phone number. Don’t make me regret it, BookwormNightOwl.”*
It’s Friday night and Declan’s lying on his couch with a beer he’s barely touched, phone in hand, reading through the latest exchange with the kind of smile that would probably embarrass him if anyone could see it.
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *Serious question: if you could only eat one cuisine for the rest of your life, what would it be and why is the answer Italian?*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *Bold of you to assume Italian. I’m Irish. The answer is obviously potatoes prepared seventy-three different ways.*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *Potatoes are not a cuisine, they’re a vegetable having an identity crisis.*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *You take that back. Potatoes are the perfect food. Versatile, delicious, the foundation of civilization.*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *The foundation of civilization is BREAD. This is a hill I will die on.*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *Counterpoint: you can make bread from potatoes. Checkmate.*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *I hate that you’re right. Fine. Potatoes are acceptable. But only if we can also have pasta.*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *Deal. Our hypothetical desert island menu is getting pretty solid.*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *Are we planning to be stranded together? That’s presumptuous.*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *Is it though? We’ve been talking every day for a week. I think we’re past the point of pretending this is casual.*
There’s a pause long enough that Declan starts to worry he pushed too hard too fast, but then:
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *You’re right. This doesn’t feel casual. Which is terrifying because I don’t even know your real name.*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *Do you want to know? We can do the whole proper introduction thing if you want. Real names, real photos, real everything.*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *Not yet. Is that weird? I like this. Being anonymous. Being able to be completely honest without the weight of real-world identity.*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *Not weird. I like it too. Though I’m curious—what do you think I look like?*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *Hmm. Tall. Dark hair, maybe with some gray starting because you mentioned you’re in your early thirties. Glasses because you’re a bookworm. Kind eyes. The kind of smile that makes people trust you.*
Declan looks at his reflection in the darkened TV screen—tall, yes, dark hair without any gray yet, no glasses though he probably needs them, and he’s been told his smile is charming but he’s not sure about trustworthy.
**BookwormNightOwl:** *Close on some counts. What about you? Let me guess: you’re beautiful but you don’t quite believe it. You dress professionally, probably a little severe. You have a smile you don’t show people often enough. And when you laugh—really laugh—it’s the best sound in the world.*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *How do you know what my laugh sounds like? We’ve only texted.*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *Lucky guess. But I’m right, aren’t I?*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *…Maybe. You’re annoyingly perceptive.*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *Part of my charm. Speaking of which—can we talk about work? You mentioned you’re in tech.*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *I’m in marketing for a tech company. It’s competitive. High pressure. Sometimes I wonder if I’m too focused on winning.*
Declan sits up, his heart doing something complicated, because he’s spent this entire week obsessing over winning against a certain marketing director and here’s SunnyDayDreamer talking about the same thing.
**BookwormNightOwl:** *I get that. I’m in tech sales. Everything is a competition. Beating the other guy, landing the deal, coming out on top. Sometimes I think I care more about winning than why I’m competing in the first place.*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *Exactly! Like… I love my job. I’m good at it. But sometimes I look around and realize I’ve optimized everything for professional success and forgotten to build an actual life.*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *Same. I’m the youngest of six siblings. Spent my whole childhood competing for attention, proving I was just as good as my older brothers and sisters. Now I’m thirty-two and still trying to prove something to people who don’t care.*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *God, that resonates. I’m an only child but I grew up knowing I had to be twice as good to get half the credit. Now I’ve built this whole identity around being the best and I don’t know how to be anything else.*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *What if you didn’t have to be? What if you could just… be? Without the performance?*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *I don’t think I know how. Being perfect is safer. If I’m perfect, no one can dismiss me or underestimate me or decide I don’t belong.*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *You belong. I don’t even know you in real life and I know that. You’re brilliant and driven and the kind of person who makes the world better by being in it.*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *You can’t know that.*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *Can’t I? We’ve talked every day this week. I know you bring your coworkers coffee when they’re stressed. I know you stay late to help junior team members with their presentations. I know you donate to three different animal shelters because you grew up with cats and can’t stand the idea of any being homeless. I know you’re scared of being vulnerable but you’re doing it anyway by talking to me. So yeah, I know you belong.*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *How do you do that? Make me want to cry and smile at the same time?*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *Talent. Also, I’m scared too. Of ending up alone because I never learned how to be vulnerable. Of choosing career over connection and regretting it. Of meeting someone perfect and fucking it up because I don’t know how to let anyone see the parts of me that aren’t performing.*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *What if we’re both terrible at this?*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *Then we’ll be terrible together. And maybe being terrible with the right person is better than being perfect alone.*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *BookwormNightOwl?*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *Yeah?*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *I really like you. Like, scary amounts. And I don’t even know what you look like in real life.*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *I really like you too. And for what it’s worth—I think I might be falling for you.*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *That’s terrifying.*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *Agreed. Want to be terrified together?*
**SunnyDayDreamer:** *Yes. But can we keep the mystery a little longer? I like having this separate from real life. Like this is just ours.*
**BookwormNightOwl:** *As long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.*
Declan falls asleep that night still holding his phone, SunnyDayDreamer’s last message glowing on the screen—*”Thank you for being patient with me. I’m not used to letting people in.”*—and he thinks about how easy it is to be vulnerable with someone when you don’t have to perform, when you can just be yourself without the weight of professional expectations and competitive posturing.
He wonders what she looks like, what her real name is, whether she’d still like him if she knew he was the kind of guy who gets into shouting matches with competitors and loses investors and holds grudges against brilliant women who beat him at his own game.
He wonders if she’s thinking about him too, if she’s lying awake imagining what it would be like to meet in person, if she’s scared of the same things he is—that reality won’t live up to the fantasy they’ve built in text messages and late-night confessions.
But mostly he just thinks about how nice it is to have someone who sees him—really sees him—and likes what they find.
Even if that someone is essentially a stranger.
Even if he’s falling in love with a person he’s never actually met.
What could possibly go wrong?
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