Social media is supposed to be harmless—just a way to share little joys with friends and family. That’s what I thought when I posted a photo of Mark and me on a hiking trail. We’d been together for nearly a year, and he was everything I wanted in a partner: kind, funny, reliable. The caption read: “My favorite person and I on our latest adventure!”
Ten minutes later, I got a message from a profile with no photo or posts:
“YOU NEED TO GET AWAY FROM HIM. NOW.”
I froze.
Curious and uneasy, I tapped on the sender’s profile—completely blank. Just as I began to process the first message, another came:
“Don’t tell Mark. Act normal. Smile. He’s more dangerous than you realize. Meet me at Bayou Bakery at 2 p.m. tomorrow. I’ll show you the proof.”
I glanced over at Mark, loading our hiking gear into the car, completely unaware. He waved at me with his usual warm smile.
That night, I barely slept. Was I overreacting? Or had I missed something critical about him all this time?
I decided to play along—cautiously.
The next morning, trying to sound casual, I told Mark I was meeting my mom for lunch.
“Oh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t mention it before.”
“She called last night. Last minute,” I replied quickly.
He nodded but didn’t look convinced.
I arrived at Bayou Bakery early and sat near the window, scanning every face that walked through the door. Ten minutes. Then twenty. No one came.
Just as I was preparing to leave, the door opened—and in walked Mark.
“Ellie?” he asked, clearly confused. “What are you doing here? I thought you were with your mom.”
I felt cold. “I… could ask you the same thing.”
He sat down. “I got a message. Someone told me to come here. Said it had to do with you.”
My head spun. He got a message too?
Then, just as we were trying to make sense of it, someone else entered: Andrew, a mutual friend.
He pulled up a chair, beaming. “Surprise!”
Mark and I stared at him in shock.
“What the hell is going on, Andrew?” I asked, my voice sharp.
“Relax. It was a test,” he said. “I wanted to see if you two really trust each other.”
Mark’s jaw tightened. “That’s sick. You scared us.”
Andrew shrugged. “Maybe it was a bit much. But think about it—you both believed strangers over each other. That says something, doesn’t it?”
He had a point, though his methods were cruel. His “experiment” revealed just how easily fear and doubt could unravel even the strongest relationship.
On the walk home, Mark and I barely spoke. But eventually, I said, “Do you think he was right?”
Mark sighed. “Maybe. We didn’t talk. We just panicked.”
Andrew’s twisted prank had shaken us—but in a strange way, it reminded us that real trust is built not in picture-perfect moments, but in how we handle fear, doubt, and the unknown—together.