The thing about going viral is that it doesn't politely knock. It kicks your door in wearing muddy boots and asks what's for dinner.
By the time my shift ended, my phone was vibrating like it had a caffeine addiction worse than mine. DMs, emails, comments from strangers calling me things like "Relatable King" and "Romance's Last Hope." Which was hilarious, considering I hadn't been on an actual date in six months, unless you counted accidentally sitting across from a stranger at a Panera.
I unlocked my phone to over two dozen new notifications.
"Hey, I love your blog! Any tips for handling situationships??""Can you write something about guys who can't communicate?? PLEASE??""Are you single? Asking for a friend. (It's me. I'm the friend.)"
"Internet fame," Zoe mused as we walked down the street, sipping iced coffees. "It's like winning the lottery, but instead of money you get judgment from complete strangers."
"I don't want to be famous," I muttered. "I just want people to stop sending me their tragic love lives like I'm Dear Abby with bad posture."
Zoe gave me a sideways glance, biting her straw. "You're kind of cute when you're overwhelmed."
"Don't start."
"Who's starting?" She winked.
I pretended not to hear her. Zoe flirted like she breathed—casually, constantly, and usually while wearing paint-stained jeans. We'd been best friends since college, and I knew the game: harmless teasing. Probably.
Probably.
As we rounded the corner, I spotted another familiar figure standing at the bus stop, tapping furiously on her phone. Long black hair in a braid, denim jacket, boots like she'd just come back from kicking over an art gallery.
Rina Takeda.
My childhood rival.
Of course today wasn't chaotic enough.
Her eyes flicked up, locked on mine, and I swear I could see her smirk activate like someone pressing a red button.
"Well, well, well," she called, crossing her arms. "If it isn't Eliot Ryker, the Romance Whisperer."
"Rina," I sighed. "What fresh torment brings you back to my neighborhood?"
"I just moved here. Got tired of beating you at chess online. Thought I'd beat you at life in person instead."
I opened my mouth, closed it again. Rina had been competing with me since second grade, when I stole the last chocolate pudding cup in the cafeteria. Ever since, it was test scores, video games, job offers—you name it, we fought over it.
Now she was standing here, looking like every punk rock girl from the music videos I used to secretly crush on, with that same infuriating smirk.
"Let me guess," I said finally. "You read the blog."
"Oh, I read it." She took a step closer, teasing. "And I've decided that if you're gonna be the face of modern dating, you need someone to keep you honest."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning," she said, poking my chest with one finger, "I'm going to prove I'm better at romance than you."
Zoe let out a low whistle. "Did you just get challenged to a love duel?"
"I think I did."
"Hot."
I blinked at Rina. "This is absurd."
She grinned. "Absurd is my specialty."
And just like that, I had a viral blog, an accidental advice business, one intimidating lawyer somehow thinking I was her emotional guru, my best friend flirting with me, and my childhood rival declaring romantic warfare on me before lunch.
I took a long sip of iced coffee and stared into the middle distance.
"This is fine," I muttered. "Everything is fine."
Spoiler: it wasn't.
Not even close.