On a Tuesday morning, everything began. I was idly browsing Instagram when I came upon a profile in the "People You May Know" section that I had never seen before. His profile image featured him holding a coffee cup, wearing a sweatshirt, and laughing against a sunny backdrop. His name was Leo. There was a little biography beside his name that said, "Living life like I won the lottery." Assuming that was just another useless suggestion, I dismissed it.
However, I saw him again later that evening. On Facebook, this time. The phrase "People You May Know" was becoming monotonous. Leo was new, but I kept running into the same people—mostly former classmates or acquaintances of friends I hadn't spoken to in years. It was strange that we had no mutual ties. I dismissed it still, although there was an odd, almost deliberate, sense about it.
Leo appeared on my Spotify the following morning in a playlist suggestion titled "Songs You Might Like." I recall giggling aloud. Facebook, Instagram, and now Spotify? He seemed to be trying to enter my life through the algorithm. The coincidence was too great to ignore, even though the idea appeared absurd. I went on his Instagram page because I couldn't help myself.
Leo's account featured a variety of travel-related images, vintage Polaroid pictures, and grainy sunset photos with lyrics to songs. Every post had a poetic, even intimate feel. His pictures featured coffee shops that appeared warm and inviting, cities I had never been, and novels he had read. He appeared to be the type of person who truly appreciated the little things in life and knew how to live. He had an effortless charisma. He just was; it didn't seem like he was trying too hard.
Throughout the day, I noticed that I kept thinking about him. I had never had such strong feelings for someone I had never even met. However, there was something oddly familiar about Leo, like if I should already be acquainted with him. And the algorithm undoubtedly agreed. His profile kept showing up everywhere over the course of the following week, including in advertisements for establishments he had tagged himself in, in my YouTube recommendations, and in the comments of postings I followed.
I decided to listen one evening while browsing his Spotify selections. "Songs for the Sleepless" was the name of the playlist. I connected with someone I had never met while I listened to the ethereal, lulling sounds. It seemed illogical to me that he would have the ideal voice for those songs if I could just hear him talk. Something serene, gentle, and a little mysterious.
Weeks passed. I truly did try to ignore it. However, Leo's profile was like a ghost haunting my newsfeed. Every time he appeared, I found myself getting to know him better and figuring out tidbits of his personality from his posts. I began to feel as though I knew him, or at least the online persona he had chosen to present.
Then, one night, I was shaken by something that happened. He sent me a direct message on Instagram. Just three words: “Do I know you?”
I stared at the message, my heart pounding. How likely was it that he would get in touch with me after all this time? Was he aware that I was sneaking around his profile? After a few minutes of hesitation, feeling vulnerable and a little ashamed, I answered: "Really? I also don't know. I keep seeing you on all of my apps.
He replied almost instantly. “Yeah, same here. It’s like we were meant to meet or something.”
Late into the night, we continued to talk. He was more endearing and humorous than his posts showed. He informed me that, like me, he had been baffled by my profile. We made a joke about how our phones might have determined that we were soulmates.
For several days after that, we kept talking. We discussed travel, music, and books. I became more interested in him because of his perceptive and humorous perspective on the world. For the first time in a long time, I felt a connection. It was exciting, fantastical, and reminiscent of a movie plot. In order to determine whether the spark would still be present, I began thinking about what it would be like to meet him in person.
I then made the decision to message him to arrange a meeting on a late Thursday evening. Something prevented me from opening his profile. On his page, there was a new post. Several folks were tagged in an old group photo from a family gathering. I looked at his friends and family by clicking on each profile out of curiosity.
That’s when I saw her.
It showed a girl with freckles, brown hair, and the same age as me. Her bio read, “In loving memory of Sarah.” When I understood that this female was Leo's ex and that she looked a lot like me, I got a chill. I felt like I was staring into a mirror because of the unnerving similarities.
As I continued to browse her page, I discovered that Sarah had died in a vehicle accident two years prior. Everything began to make sense, even the uncanny sense of familiarity I had experienced and the odd attraction to Leo. Instead of falling for him, I was falling for a reincarnation of the person he had previously loved and lost. He was the one stalking me all along and that is why I was seeing him EVERYWHERE!
All of a sudden, everything felt off. With my heart racing, I shut down the app. I couldn't get rid of the impression that I was a ghost or stand-in for someone who had previously been adored. We hadn't met by chance thanks to the algorithm. It had identified the resemblances, the uncanny bond between us, and had attempted to anticipate the ideal match—what algorithms are greatest at. However, this was merely a digital illusion, a peculiar turn of events where the past somehow managed to haunt the present, and it wasn't a love story.
I didn't respond to Leo's previous communication. He would never see me for who I truly was, I knew. I was but a shadow of a memory he could never fully let go of, a reflection of someone he had lost. And I didn't want to be that way for anybody. I therefore took the only action I could. I removed his playlists and barred him on all platforms.
Suddenly, Leo was no longer visible on my feeds. No more recommendations, no more odd suggestions. He appeared to have never been there at all...
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