Screen Net

(The sound of hyperventilating slowly slows down into a long, calming exhale. A clean, acoustic guitar enters, playing a gentle, warm chord progression. A soft, acoustic rimshot taps gently on the backbeat, feeling human instead of electronic.)

The noise in my head just stopped. I’m standing up off the bathroom floor, wiping my eyes.

I walk over to the blinds and part them just an inch. There’s his car.

The engine is ticking over, headlights cutting through the dark. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat.

I can see the glow of his phone on his face. He’s probably waiting for me to text back.

But my phone is still face down on the counter. And for the first time in months...

I don’t want to touch it.

(A warm, deep acoustic bass guitar slides in, wrapping around the acoustic guitar chords.)

It’s crazy because I know how dating works. I know how to put on a outfit, how to smile, how to play the part.

But my mind won’t stop spinning on this one thing. What if the screen was just a safety net?

What if the glass was keeping us safe from the truth?

(The beat fills out with a lazy, organic R&B drum groove. It feels grounded and real.)

The phone was making it easy.

Answering when I wanted, hiding when I felt small.

Editing my sentences so I never tripped at all.

But a safety net can’t look me in the eyes.

And a screen net can’t tell me if it’s all a lie. I’m tearing down the web, I’m stepping off the ledge.

I want this to be real.

(Soft, organic vocal harmony echoes:)

Real... let it be real...

(The drums drop out, leaving just the acoustic guitar and a faint, warm ambient synth pad in the background.)

I look down at my hands. They’re still shaking a little bit.

But it’s not the panic attack anymore. It’s... anticipation.

I spent so long begging for someone to be consistent, to be 100% human.

And he drove all the way out here through my storm just to prove it.

He didn’t send a one-word text. He didn’t drop the effort.

He stood up.

Now it’s my turn to do the same.

(The organic R&B drum groove returns, building in intensity as strings subtly swell behind the guitar.)

No more typing and deleting.

No more hiding behind a profile grid.

I am more than the photos I posted.

I am more than the anxiety I live in.

I’m walking down the hallway now.

Every step away from my bedroom feels like breaking a digital chain.

The phone was making it easy.

Answering when I wanted, hiding when I felt small.

Editing my sentences so I never tripped at all.

But a safety net can’t look me in the eyes.

And a screen net can’t tell me if it’s all a lie. I’m tearing down the web, I’m stepping off the ledge.

I want this to be real.

(Soft, organic vocal harmony echoes:)

Real... let it be real...

(The acoustic guitar chords slow down. The drums fade out, leaving a quiet, ambient room tone.)

I’m standing in the living room. My hand is reaching for the deadbolt. The safety net is gone.