Chapter 2

The d******d finished with a subtle vibration that made me jump.

I stared at the newly installed icon on my home screen, a minimalist purple emblem that looked like a little door waiting to be opened in the middle of my pitch-black room. My heart thumped against my ribs, caught between a strange excitement and the fear of what I was about to do.

I can delete it right now, I reminded myself, my thumb hovering over the app. I haven't actually done anything yet.

But the silence in my room was becoming unbearable. The moving boxes stacked in the corner, the empty notification center on my lock screen, and the constant loneliness I'd been carrying around all seemed to push me toward the decision. I couldn't bring myself to close the app, so I finally tapped the icon.

A sleek welcome screen appeared, followed by a simple prompt: Create Your Profile.

The first field asked me to choose a screen name. My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I considered what to type. Using my real name, Nicole, felt too personal. I didn't want to bring all my insecurities into this little corner of the internet. I didn't want anyone associating my name with my body, my appearance, or the fear of being judged and dismissed before they even got to know me.

I wanted a fresh start, somewhere I could be whoever I wanted without worrying about the physical reality that had made me feel invisible in the real world.

My eyes wandered toward the window. The night sky was clear, and a pale crescent moon hung quietly above the tree line.

Luna.

The name sounded soft and delicate, almost ethereal. It was everything I felt I wasn't, and somehow, I liked it.

I typed the four letters into the box.

Name: Luna

The next field asked for my age. The app's default settings required users to be at least eighteen, but even though I was nineteen, claiming my actual age didn't feel right. I was a freshman who still had no idea what she was doing with her life, and I didn't want to sound like the confused college girl I was. Besides, nineteen felt like such an awkward age. I wanted to come across as older, more mature, and more confident, like someone who had her life figured out instead of a girl hiding beneath an oversized men's hoodie in a cramped rental bedroom.

I deleted the number and typed 22 instead.

Twenty-two. It was only three years older, so it didn't seem like a particularly big deal. At least, that was what I told myself. In my mind, a twenty-two-year-old was a sophisticated woman who was probably finishing her degree or starting a career, someone who knew how to navigate the world without constantly second-guessing herself.

Then came the part that made my blood run cold: Add Profile Photos (At least 1 required).

My palms began to sweat against the smooth surface of my phone. I didn't have any pictures of myself that I actually liked. My camera roll was mostly filled with photos of my artwork, stray cats I'd spotted around campus, screenshots of recipes I'd never bothered making, and a few awkward group pictures from high school. In most of those, I'd squeezed myself into the back row, doing my best to hide behind everyone else.

There were no cute selfies taken in the sunlight, no glamorous pictures from nights out, and certainly no effortless candid shots of me smiling at the camera.

If I uploaded a real picture of myself, with my round face, double chin, and soft shoulders, I knew exactly what would happen. People would swipe past me without a second thought. I'd be ignored here, too, and the whole point of downloading this app was to escape the feeling of being judged and dismissed because of my size.

It's just a chat app, I told myself, trying to quiet the guilt creeping into my stomach. People use aesthetic pictures all the time. It's practically standard.

I opened P*******t and typed aesthetic girl brunette dark hair soft lighting into the search bar.

My screen quickly filled with carefully curated pictures. I scrolled past dozens of beautiful women until one particular set caught my attention. The girl in the pictures had long, wavy dark brown hair that fell over her delicate, slender shoulders. Her collarbones were sharp and defined, her waist was narrow, and her skin had a smooth, golden glow beneath the warm fairy lights. In one picture, she was looking slightly away from the camera with a soft, mysterious smile, holding a cup of coffee. In another, she wore a fitted beige knit sweater that hugged her tiny frame.

She was breathtaking.

She looked like the kind of girl who received affection without having to question whether she deserved it, the kind of girl guys would turn their heads to watch whenever she walked into a room. She was everything I wasn't.

My stomach tightened as I downloaded three of the pictures to my phone.

This is insane, a little voice inside my head warned. You're lying before you've even started.

It's not a lie if I never meet anyone in real life, I argued, trying to silence the voice that kept reminding me what I was doing. I'm not looking for a boyfriend. I'm not planning on going on a date. I just want to talk to someone without them seeing a fat girl first. It's harmless.

With trembling fingers, I uploaded all three pictures to Luna's profile.

Seeing them displayed alongside the name Luna and the age 22 felt strangely surreal. It was as though I were looking at an entirely different person. A beautiful, slender woman who belonged in those sunlit I*******m pictures, not in a messy, dark bedroom surrounded by half-unpacked cardboard boxes.

Next came the bio section.

Rather than writing something generic, I decided to let a little of my actual personality show through. If my appearance was going to be a lie, at least my thoughts could be real.

Bio: Night owl, secret coffee addict, and amateur art enthusiast. Looking for genuine conversations, dark humor, and someone who actually knows how to hold a real discussion after midnight. No dry texters, please.

I stared at the completed profile. It was such a strange combination of fiction and reality: a beautiful, petite girl on the outside, wrapped around my actual thoughts, my sense of humor, and my desperate need for human connection.

I felt a heaviness settle in my chest. Deep down, I knew I was crossing a line. I was building an entire fantasy around someone else's face because I was too afraid to let anyone see mine. But as I glanced around my silent bedroom, the thought of remaining invisible seemed much worse than the guilt I felt about deceiving strangers on the internet.

Finally, I tapped Save & Complete.

A notification appeared on the screen.

Your profile is now live! Start swiping or browse open rooms.

I let out a long breath, my thumb resting against the screen. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, or that this one desperate decision would set my entire life on a collision course with a storm I couldn't possibly control.