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I should have known something was off when Jessie offered me coffee with a smile. Not her usual “I found a bug in your self-worth code” smirk. This was... conspiratorial. She even added oat milk without asking. That’s how I knew it was a setup.

“You’re glowing,” she said as we mic’d up.

“I’m sweating,” I replied. “You know this room has the ambient humidity of a hot yoga class, right?”

Jessie didn’t answer. Just patted my shoulder like she was proud of me for something I hadn’t done yet.

Honestly? I should’ve seen it coming. It had been a weird month.

Exactly four weeks ago, the phrase “Raw_logs” meant nothing to me. Now it’s a trigger word that makes my eye twitch. One stray folder. Thirteen misplaced files. And suddenly, the man I’d most recently yelled at via podcast showed up at my apartment with tea.

The fallout came fast. My subscriber count doubled. My sense of privacy halved.

I pivoted. Pivoted so hard my own therapist got whiplash.

New audience. New tone. New Emily.

Red graphics, Gen Z episode titles. “Intentional cringe,” Jessie called it.

The numbers soared. The comments softened. And yet, under the surface: questions. Too many. About Adrian. About the audio. About whether it was all real, or just a very compelling experiment in vulnerability as brand currency .

The plan was simple—or so I was told. A reunion livestream. Light, punchy, scroll-stopping energy. We’d talk about what worked, what flopped, what we’d learned. Maybe toss in some banter from Matt and Rachel if the mood struck. Classic post-season fluff.

Rachel was already perched on her stool like a reformed villain turned wellness coach. She had a headband. A journal. A smile that said “I’ve forgiven myself and at least three mediocre men.”

Matt hovered near the ring light, visibly sweating through his third-layer shirt. He looked like someone trying to dress up their emotional availability with a vest.

Jessie manned the audio with the gleeful chaos of someone who knew exactly what was coming and had no plans to warn me.

We rolled. Cameras on. Audience live.

And for ten beautiful minutes, it went exactly as planned.

“So Rachel,” I said, flipping through my cue cards. “Tell us how it feels to be the first person in this group to graduate from emotional chaos to couple’s therapy.”

She beamed. “Honestly? I think I was just ready to stop being right and start being happy.”

Cute. Marketable. Clean.

Matt chimed in: “And I’m just happy to have a second chance at demonstrating I’m not a walking red flag.”

Jessie made a gesture off-camera that implied he was still at least salmon-colored. The chat exploded in laughter.

I relaxed a little. The metrics were good. Engagement was steady. My pulse was only mildly erratic.

I turned to Jessie .

“What’s your hot take on why modern dating’s still a mess?”

She didn’t flinch. “Trying too hard to be impressive instead of just... being a human.”

That’s Jessie for you. Equal parts snark and clairvoyance. The kind of girl who’d psychoanalyze your love life mid-coffee order and then offer you a bite of her croissant.

Before I could steer us back to safer territory, she added—way too casually: “Okay, Emily. What would you tell your past self? Y’know, the one who treated dating like a quarterly KPI review.”

Low blow. Fair.

I laughed. “Maybe... less spreadsheets, more somatic awareness?”

A few chuckles. Rachel gave me a look like she’d heard that one in therapy. Jessie just raised a brow.

“No, seriously,” I said. “I’d probably say—stop trying to optimize for the lowest possible risk. Eventually, you start confusing loneliness with safety.”

There it was. My truth. Neatly packaged. Totally survivable. Maybe even tweetable.

That’s when Jessie leaned into her mic.

“We’ve got a surprise guest today.”

I blinked. “We what?”

Rachel was suddenly very invested in adjusting her mic level. Matt looked like he was trying not to make eye contact with a bear.

Jessie turned to the camera. “You may know him as the man who hijacked Emily’s podcast not once, but twice. Please welcome... Adrian Zayne.”

I swear my heart stopped. Not in a poetic way. In a medical emergency way.

Adrian walks out like he’s entering a TED Talk—but without the smirk. Hair slightly messy. Wearing a shirt I once said makes him look “accidentally approachable.”

He doesn’t wave. Doesn’t look at the camera. Just meets my eyes.

And for a second, I want to run.

Instead, I sit frozen. Waiting for the punchline.

There isn’t one.

“I wasn’t invited,” he says. “Not officially. But I figured I owed us something.”

Jessie hands him a mic like she’s passing off a crown. Or a bomb.

Adrian looks at it, then back at me.

“You once said I always knew what to say,” he begins. “But I’m not here because I know what you want. I’m here because—for once—I know what I feel.”

I can’t breathe.

“I was the guy who had all the answers. Who taught other guys how to stay just far enough away to never get hurt. How to win from a distance. And it worked. Right up until I met the one person who saw through it.”

My mouth goes dry.

“You asked me once what I wanted. And I gave some generic answer. But what I wanted—what I want—is to be the kind of man who tells the truth. Especially when it costs him.”

He looks down. Then back up. Right at me.

“I didn’t choose you then. Because I didn’t know how. But I’d like to learn. With you. If you’re open to figuring this out with me.”

Silence. Not from the audience. From me.

I feel everyone watching. Waiting.

Rachel’s eyes sparkle. Even Matt looks like he’s holding his breath.

Jessie clears her throat. “Emily?”

I stand.

Walk over to Adrian.

Take Adrian’s mic and hold it up like I’m about to say something profound.

Instead, I turn to the camera.

“That’s our show, folks. See you next season—if we survive this conversation.”

Then I reach down and hit the end stream button myself.

Jessie slides her headphones off.

“Wow,” she says. “Great timing. That’s when the sponsor ad was supposed to go.”