Unlimited Data, Limited Worth

He was from China. His name was Wei.

Wei wasn’t loud about his feelings. He showed them quietly, practically, in ways that made sense to him. He believed care was something you provided, not something you demanded. So when she complained one night about running out of mobile data and missing her favorite shows, Wei didn’t hesitate.

“I can add you to my plan,” he said. “I barely use it anyway.”

That wasn’t true. He worked long hours and watched shows late at night to unwind. But giving it to her felt right—like solving a problem, like being useful. He upgraded his subscription, paid extra every month, and sent her the login details within minutes.

She was happy. Or at least, she sounded happy.

“Thank youuu,” she texted. “You’re the best.”

Those three words stayed with him longer than they should have.

Soon, it became routine. She streamed dramas on his account. Watched episodes back-to-back. Sent him screenshots sometimes—not of gratitude, but of scenes she liked. He smiled every time his phone notified him of increased usage. It felt like proof that he mattered.

But slowly, the imbalance showed itself.

When Wei messaged her, replies came late.
When he shared something personal, she reacted with emojis.
When he was tired or stressed, she didn’t notice.

The subscription kept renewing. The conversations didn’t.

One evening, Wei’s data ran out unexpectedly. He couldn’t load anything. Couldn’t even send messages properly. He laughed at first—until he realized where all the data had gone. Hours of streaming. Entire seasons watched without a second thought.

He texted her, half-joking:
“Hey, I think you used all the data 😅”

She replied quickly for once.
“Oh yeah lol. I’m binge-watching. Can you top it up?”

No concern. No apology. Just expectation.

That night, Wei stared at his phone longer than usual. It wasn’t about the money. It wasn’t about the data. It was about the realization that what he gave so easily had become invisible. Necessary, but not appreciated. Expected, but never protected.

He thought about all the other things he had shared quietly—his time, his patience, his emotional availability. None of those came with passwords. None of those had limits.

And maybe that was the problem.

The next billing cycle came, and Wei didn’t renew the subscription.

She noticed immediately.

“Hey, my shows won’t load. Did something happen?”

Wei typed a long message. Then erased it. Then typed again. In the end, he sent just one line:

“I needed it for myself.”

She left him on read.

No argument. No fight. Just silence.

And somehow, that silence said everything.

Wei learned something painful but necessary:
When someone only notices you when the benefits disappear,
they were never connected to you—only to what you provided.

Unlimited data didn’t bring him closer to her.
It only revealed how far apart they already were.

For the first time in a long while, Wei used his phone that night just for himself.