She pressed it.
The app refreshed with a new tagline: “Boyfriend free. Heart full. Welcome back.”
Chloe thought it was a joke. Then she tried it.
First went Jake, the musician who’d said “I’m not ready for a relationship” after seven months of acting like her boyfriend. Poof. His texts stopped arriving mid-sentence, as if reality itself had edited him out. boyfriend free
And for the first time, she didn’t need an app to decide what came next.
"Boyfriend free" was the name of the app, and Chloe had downloaded it at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday, half-laughing, half-crying into a pint of salted caramel ice cream.
She deleted it. Then she texted Jake: Hey. I know you’re not ready. I’m not either. But I miss the raccoon story. She pressed it
He replied three dots. Then: It’s 3 a.m.
But then she noticed something strange. The app had a hidden feature: a small counter in the corner that read Freedoms granted: 12 . Below it, in fine print: Each swipe right transfers a small portion of your emotional bandwidth to the app’s servers. For research purposes.
Next went Marcus, the charming one who’d borrowed money and never paid it back. Gone from her Venmo history, her memory even starting to blur around the edges of his face. Welcome back
Then went the man she’d never dated but who’d taken up too much space in her head anyway—the one who’d smiled at her once in a grocery store and become a fantasy for six lonely months. The app asked, “Has he ever actually been your boyfriend?” She clicked “No.” The app replied, “Then he’s already free. But we’ll free you, too.” And just like that, she stopped wondering what if.
The app had a new notification: You are now boyfriend-free. Would you like to upgrade to “feeling-free”? No more longing. No more loneliness. No more love. One-time offer.
She typed back: Exactly.
She thought about Jake’s laugh. Marcus’s stupid joke about the raccoon in the trash can. The grocery store stranger’s eyes—she couldn’t even picture them anymore.