Chapter 8: Confession Online
By the time Valentine's Day was four days away, neither Linda nor Mathilda could pretend anymore.
What had started as casual chats had turned into something deeper—something that made their hearts beat faster whenever their phones lit up.
That evening, rain tapped softly against the windows. The apartment smelled like tea and vanilla candles. Linda sat at the dining table with her laptop closed, phone in hand. Mathilda paced back and forth across the living room, barefoot, nervous energy written all over her face.
"I think tonight is the night," Mathilda said, stopping suddenly.
Linda looked up. "The night for what?"
Mathilda swallowed. "For telling him how I feel."
Linda's fingers tightened slightly around her phone. "You're sure?"
Mathilda nodded. "I can't keep pretending this is just flirting. I think about him too much."
Linda studied her friend's face. Mathilda's playful confidence was still there, but beneath it was vulnerability—hope mixed with fear.
"I think I'm going to tell mine too," Linda said quietly.
Mathilda's eyes widened. "Really?"
Linda nodded. "It feels dishonest not to."
They exchanged a look—half excitement, half nerves.
"Okay," Mathilda said, taking a deep breath. "Let's do it. Together."
They sat on opposite ends of the couch, phones glowing in their hands, hearts racing.
Linda opened her chat first.
The cursor blinked.
She stared at the screen, thoughts swirling.
Don't rush.Be honest.Be you.
She typed slowly.
I've been meaning to say this for a while. Talking to you has become something I look forward to every day. I didn't expect to feel this way, but I do.
She paused, reread it, then continued.
I think I'm developing real feelings.
Her thumb hovered over the send button.
Linda closed her eyes and pressed send.
Her chest tightened immediately.
Across the couch, Mathilda squealed softly.
"Oh my God, I'm shaking," she whispered.
"What did you say?" Linda asked.
Mathilda grinned nervously. "I told him he makes me smile without trying. That I feel safe opening up to him."
Linda smiled despite her nerves.
Minutes passed.
Then Linda's phone buzzed.
Her breath caught.
I'm really glad you told me, the message read. I feel the same way. I didn't want to scare you, but you've been on my mind constantly.
Linda's eyes filled slightly.
She typed back.
I'm glad I'm not alone in this.
Mathilda gasped suddenly. "He replied!"
Linda turned to her.
Mathilda read aloud, voice trembling. "He said… 'I was hoping you'd say something. I've been holding back because I didn't want to move too fast, but I like you. A lot.'"
They both laughed—soft, relieved laughter.
"That's progress," Linda said.
"Big progress," Mathilda agreed.
That night, the conversations stretched late.
Linda and her match talked about expectations.
"I don't fall easily," Linda admitted. "When I do, it's serious."
I respect that, he replied. I'm not here to waste time.
Mathilda talked about affection and attention.
"I like reassurance," she confessed. "Words matter to me."
Then I'll be intentional with mine, he replied.
Each confession brought them closer—or so they thought.
The next morning, Linda woke to a good-morning message.
I hope you slept well. I was thinking about what you said last night.
She smiled.
Mathilda woke to three voice notes and a heart emoji.
She played them on speaker while brushing her teeth, laughing.
By afternoon, both women were glowing.
"This actually feels real," Mathilda said, scrolling through messages. "Like… not just online fantasy."
Linda nodded. "Same. I'm starting to picture what a date might be like."
Mathilda grinned. "Me too. Valentine's is so close."
Linda hesitated. "Do you think it's too soon to meet?"
Mathilda shrugged. "If the connection is real, why wait?"
Linda considered that.
Later that day, Linda brought it up in her chat.
With Valentine's coming up… would you want to meet?
Her heart pounded as she waited.
I was hoping you'd ask, he replied. I think it's time.
Linda smiled slowly.
Mathilda was already there.
"He asked me too!" she said excitedly. "He wants to do something special."
Linda raised an eyebrow. "Special how?"
Mathilda laughed. "He won't say. Just that it's a surprise."
Linda's stomach fluttered with both excitement and unease.
That night, they sat on the floor, backs against the couch, talking.
"Do you think love can really start like this?" Mathilda asked.
Linda thought for a moment. "I think connection can. Love takes time."
Mathilda nodded. "I just don't want to get hurt again."
Linda reached for her hand. "Whatever happens, we'll face it together."
Mathilda squeezed her hand. "Always."
But beneath the warmth of their friendship, tiny cracks were forming—unnoticed, unspoken.
Linda noticed how similar the men's messages sounded sometimes.
The same phrases.The same timing.
She brushed it off as coincidence.
Mathilda noticed the same thing—but excitement drowned out doubt.
"Maybe all good men just communicate well," she joked.
Linda forced a smile.
Two days before Valentine's, confessions deepened.
Linda admitted her fear of abandonment.
Mathilda admitted her fear of comparison.
Both men responded with reassurance.
"I won't disappear," Linda was told.
"You don't have to compete," Mathilda was told.
The words felt perfect.
Too perfect.
Still, both women believed they were moving forward.
Linda believed she was building something solid.
Mathilda believed she was finally chosen.
Neither of them realized they were confessing their hearts to the same man.
And that Valentine's Day would not be filled with roses and laughter—but with betrayal, heartbreak, and a friendship pushed to its breaking point.
For now, though, all they felt was hope.
And hope, as they would soon learn, can be the most dangerous thing of all.