Lockdown Love Was Never Real: A Dark Story of Obsession and Loss

When the city shut down, everything became quiet.
No cars. No people. Just sirens far away.

M. Fischer stayed in my small apartment because it felt safer together. We didn’t plan it. It just happened. She sat on the floor the first night, eating cereal from a mug, and laughed like the world wasn’t falling apart. I remember thinking, This is how life is supposed to feel.

We fell in love fast because there was nothing else to do.
No work. No friends. No outside world.

It was just us.

She slept beside me because nights felt long. She hugged me because touch was rare. We kissed because boredom makes people reach for warmth. I told myself it was deep. I told myself it meant forever. When she said she loved me, I believed it was the truest version of her.

During lockdown, she needed me. I cooked. I listened. I stayed. When she was scared, she held me like I was the answer. I learned everything about her—how she walked when she was anxious, how she liked the lights low, how quiet made her feel safe.

That version of her was real. I knew it.

Then the city opened again.

Noise came back. People came back. Distance came back.

She started talking about space. About meeting friends. About how things felt “different now.” She packed slowly, carefully, like she didn’t want to hurt me.

The night she decided to leave, the city was loud outside. Cars. Voices. Life moving forward.

She stood by the door and finally told the truth.

She said she didn’t fall in love the way I thought.
She said she was lonely.
She said lockdown was empty and scary and boring.
She said she wanted someone to hug, someone to feel close to, someone to sleep with so the days would pass faster.

She said it wasn’t supposed to last.

I felt something break inside my chest, quiet but final.

So all those nights—
all those promises—
all that love—

were just something to do until the world came back.

I told her she was wrong. I told her that the version of her from lockdown was the real one. The one who needed me. The one who belonged with me. I told her the outside world confused her.

She looked at me like she didn’t recognize me anymore.
She said my name softly.
She stepped back.

I reached for her. Not to hurt her. Just to stop her. Just to keep the moment from ending. But moments don’t freeze. They crack.

When it was over, the apartment was quiet again.
Like it was during lockdown.
Like it was before the truth.

I sat on the floor where we once ate cereal and told myself she would have thanked me if she understood. I told myself I saved the only version of her that was real.

Outside, the city kept living.

Inside, everything stayed still.