"The Truth That Felt Like a Loss"

"Love isn't about understanding. It's about choosing to believe — even when the world says you're crazy."

Shaddayy posted the photo at 9:17 p.m.

Her in profile.

Bathed in soft twilight.

A streak of blue paint on her cheek — like a scar of colour.

Hair falling over one shoulder.

Eyes distant.

Real.

No caption.

Just one word:

"Today."

Seconds passed.

💬 Camila:

—Shayy, you're gorgeous! Is blue your new colour now?

💬 Lucía:

—It's like the light chose you, not the other way around.

💬 Mía:

—Today, you look like you finally stopped pretending.

Shaddayy smiled.

A small, quiet victory.

But before her heart could warm…

He appeared.

💬 Leonardo:

—“Today.” What if tomorrow you don’t look like this? Will you post a photo saying “Today I was nothing”?

Shaddayy frowned.

Again.

That cold tone.

That sharp edge.

As if he didn’t just see her photo…

But saw through it.

She didn’t reply.

Not publicly.

But she opened her group chat.

📱 Shayy:

—This guy again. Doesn’t he ever get tired?

📱 Camila:

—Should we humiliate him together?

📱 Mía:

—Better: let’s make him look like the idiot he is.

📱 Lucía:

—Deal.

Minutes later, the attack began.

💬 Camila:

—Hey Leonardo, are you always this bitter, or only when you see photos of girls who live more than you do?

💬 Leonardo:

—I don’t live less. I just don’t scream it to the world.

💬 Lucía:

—How sad that your greatest achievement is criticizing others from an empty profile.

💬 Leonardo:

—How sad that yours is copying quotes to seem deep.

💬 Mía:

—At least I’m not hiding behind irony because I’m scared to feel something real.

💬 Leonardo:

—At least I don’t use “art” as an excuse to cry in public.

The three stared at their phones.

📱 Camila:

—He can’t talk like that!

📱 Mía:

—Who does he think he is?

📱 Shayy:

—Let me handle this.

Shaddayy typed fast.

Fingers trembling.

💬 Shaddayy:

—You know what's most pathetic about you? You only exist in my comments. Outside here, you're nothing.

Sent.

Three hearts raced.

Camila.

Lucía.

Mía.

They waited.

Silence.

Zero.

No reply.

📱 Camila:

—We left him speechless!

But 47 seconds later, it came.

💬 Leonardo:

—Shayy, you've posted 83 photos since I've known you.

72 have captions about loneliness, abandonment, or not being seen.

12 include your family.

None mention someone who loves you as you are.

You say I only exist in your comments.

But you only exist in theirs.

So tell me —

Who's the pathetic one?

Are you the one searching for validation from people who don't even know you?

The chat went silent.

📱 Mía:

—… No.

📱 Lucía:

—He can’t be right.

📱 Camila:

—But he won.

Shaddayy stared at the screen.

No anger.

No fire.

Just…

A hollow ache.

Because part of what he said…

Was true.

She did post too much.

She did crave being seen.

And no one — not even her closest friends — really knew the girl behind the paint.

But she couldn’t admit it.

💬 Shaddayy:

—At least I don’t live alone, surrounded by cold walls and an empty profile.

💬 Leonardo:

—I don’t live alone. I live with my brother.

And my profile isn’t empty.

It’s full of people who talk without saying anything.

Like right now.

💬 Shaddayy:

—You’re an idiot.

💬 Leonardo:

—Yes.

But I’m still here.

And you’re still replying.

So tell me: who needs who?

🌙 That night – In her room

Shaddayy closed Instagram.

Opened a notebook.

Dipped her paintbrush in water, then in ink.

And wrote:

"Today I lost a fight.

But not against him.

Against myself.

Because, for a second…

I wished he was wrong."

She stared at the page.

Then at the ceiling.

And whispered:

—Why do I care what you think?

✨ Final Note:

We didn’t lose because he was faster.

We lost because we couldn’t lie to ourselves.

And he, with just words, forced us to see the truth:

Everyone wants to be seen.

Even those who say they don’t.

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