I fell in love with a stranger and now I can’t breathe
This isn’t a love story. It’s a warning. Because falling in love with a stranger can be intoxicating — but also dangerous in ways we rarely talk about.
The Dott signifies the end but thank you all for always starting new journeys with me.
I started this particular blog post with “Mind Games” by Ejoya & BNXN blasting through my speakers — you should listen to it too.
Growing up, one of the lessons that stuck with me the most was: “Don’t talk to strangers.” I remember the endless stories — someone’s cousin got kidnapped by a Facebook boyfriend; someone else was nearly trafficked after meeting a random man in a BBM group. The warnings were everywhere. Adults would literally throw the phrase “stranger danger” at you like confetti at a wedding. And now that I think about it, I really should’ve listened.
But here we are — it’s 2025, and while I don’t randomly link up with strangers off the internet (anymore), the truth is: some of us don’t even need to meet in person to fall too deep. We just need Wi-Fi and an active imagination. Because the truth is, in today’s world, connection is one text away. Sometimes it starts with a meme reply, a reaction to an Instagram story, a “wyd” at 2:14 a.m., and the next thing you know, your whole mood depends on someone who doesn’t even know your middle name.
Boy meets girl online — maybe Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, or Hinge. They start talking about random things: music, childhood trauma, which type of Indomie slaps the hardest. Eventually, the conversation flows into what we now call the “talking stage” — that very unserious yet emotionally charged period where you believe you’re “getting to know each other,” but really, you’re just telling your business to someone who hasn’t even earned access to your mind, let alone your heart.
It’s cute at first. Girl starts waking up excited to see if boy replied. Boy’s name starts appearing more in her screen time than her prayer points. They add each other into their daily routines — the quick texts before bed, the morning updates, the random voice notes that feel a little too intimate for strangers. The world starts to feel soft, like maybe something real is happening. And then, slowly but surely, the vibe shifts. Boy starts taking longer to reply. He goes from full-text essays to “lol.” He starts ignoring calls. He stops laughing at your voice notes. Girl starts checking her phone more. Refreshing his page. Wondering if she said too much, did too much, felt too much. And before you know it, she’s spiralling, wondering if she’s the problem… or if maybe her village people are back in business again.
As someone whose greatest fear is the unknown, I’ve realised that one of the scariest things about love isn’t falling — it’s falling and not being caught. It’s caring more than the other person does. It’s investing emotionally in someone who was only emotionally available for five business days. It’s wondering how something that felt so real could disappear so quickly. It’s giving the best parts of yourself to someone who didn’t even ask for them — or worse, someone who did ask, only to ghost you like you’re in a Nollywood plot twist.
The thing is, feelings sneak up on you. One minute you’re just chatting, and the next you’re on Pinterest looking at couple matching tattoos ideas. You start imagining them in your future, even though you barely know what their real voice sounds like in person. And as a semi-retired love bomber, I know how easy it is to project your needs onto someone new. When I start talking to someone, I go blind. Red flags? I’m colourblind. I will overlook everything. Because in my mind, love is supposed to be messy. Love knows no flaws. But eventually, I do start to notice the flaws — and when that happens, it’s downhill from there. The problem is, I almost never see them until it’s too late. By the time I do, I’ve already built a castle out of a situationship with no foundation. And what hurts the most isn’t that they leave — it’s that I knew better, and still jumped anyway.
I’ve had to convince myself, many times, that the feelings I catch online aren’t even real. That they’re just a form of emotional escapism. I wasn’t really in love — I was just lonely. I was just tired. I was just looking for someone to pour into, even if they were empty to begin with. And before anyone starts judging me, I’ll say this: having that mindset has actually made detaching easier. If I never fully believed the connection was real, then I don’t have to mourn it when it ends.
Now, what’s a blog post without dragging one of my friends? Let me talk about Seun. She met a guy online. He messaged her saying he just wanted to be friends. They started talking — a lot. Daily, deeply, consistently. The friendship blurred. Feelings were caught. Seun was excited. She was smiling at her phone like an idiot. But there was a twist: because he came in under the label of “friend,” she had already shown him parts of herself that she’d normally hide from someone she wanted to impress. The messy bits. The fear. The overthinking. The unfiltered chaos. Now she’s panicking — what if he doesn’t like the real her? What if he leaves the moment he realises she’s not the dream girl she pretended to be?
And honestly, I get it. Because that’s the problem with love in this generation: everyone’s pretending. Everyone’s wearing a mask. People be shapeshifting just to be chosen. We all want to be seen, but we’re scared of being fully known. So we curate. We filter. We perform. And when someone finally sees past all of that, we freeze. Because love requires honesty — and honesty is terrifying when you’ve built your personality on performance.
Let’s be real: the internet is a mad place to fall in love. Everyone’s performing, whether it’s on Instagram stories, WhatsApp voice notes, or FaceTime with the lights off. People will say what you want to hear because it’s easy to lie through a screen. You’re not falling in love with a person — you’re falling for their highlight reel. And most of the time, you’re just filler until their actual crush replies. Some people don’t even like you — they’re just bored. And that’s the most painful part. You gave your time, your trust, maybe even your body, to someone who just needed company for the week.
Falling in love with a stranger feels intense because it’s filled with fantasy. It’s projection. It’s the idea of someone. You’re not falling for who they are — you’re falling for who you hoped they’d be. And when it ends — or worse, fades away silently — it leaves you breathless. You overthink. You question your worth. You wonder if you were too much or not enough. But the truth is, it wasn’t always you. Sometimes the connection just wasn’t real to begin with. Sometimes you were the only one who felt it deeply.
So here’s my unsolicited advice: don’t give your heart to someone who hasn’t even given you consistency. Don’t plan a future with someone you’ve only ever known through Wi-Fi. Don’t let a sweet voice and a decent playlist fool you into thinking you’ve met your person. And please — for your own sanity — stop confusing vibes for values.
If it feels like you can’t breathe, maybe it’s not love. Maybe it’s anxiety. Maybe it’s your body reminding you that this isn’t peace, this is panic. Some people are meant to stay in your DMs. And honestly? That’s exactly where they should’ve stayed.
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