Then fumbled.
‘I was fumbled,’ I say, matter-of-factly yet incredulously. ‘That’s what happened.’ ‘You weren’t fumbled! Or maybe you fumbled him ?’ ‘No, for sure, this is what I’ve read about. It’s a fumble. He had me, right there! We were messaging every day, planning to meet up again, then… he was gone.’ ‘Ghosted.’ ‘Ghosted initially, then fumbled. Those are the verbs. The ghosting was when he disappeared for a month. The fumble was when he came back, and said nothing,’ I put my lips around the metal straw, and slurp the icky green juice that’s supposedly going to hydrate me to infinity and beyond. ‘The fumble was when he watched the first slide of my story, and swiped off. Maybe because he realised it was me? Who knows. The fumble was when he left my message unread, not on read.’ ‘What about when you watched his within seconds of it going up?’ ‘That was the algorithm’s fault. Although I really need to stop just tapping through everyone. I need to be more careful.’ ‘It’s important that ...
