
Three days into our wedding, I was doing what any newlywed woman with an Instagram account does: lounging in my room, soaking in the post-wedding glow, posting cute pictures, and replying to heart emojis from extended family and half-forgotten schoolmates.
And then, ding. A new follower.
No big deal, right?
Except this one was… let’s say interesting.
She had liked every photo of mine. Scrolled back months, maybe years.
Who even likes old story highlights anymore?
That’s some committed lurking.
And the cherry on top? We had exactly one mutual friend. My husband.
So, I asked him casually, “Hey, babe, who’s this?”
He looked at my phone. Pause. His face twitched. Not a full panic. Just a flicker. A glitch in the matrix. You know when someone’s trying way too hard to act normal?
He shrugged, “Just a friend.”
Sure, Jan.
Except I’m not an idiot. And that tiny moment of hesitation said it all.
So I tilted my head. Leaned in just slightly. And said in my concerned-but-casually-investigative voice:
“You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
And boom. The truth came out. Just like a popcorn kernel finally giving in to the heat. “She’s… my ex.”
I could feel a slight, sharp shift inside me. It was not jealousy or insecurity. It was a mental note in the margins of this new chapter of my life. A reminder that ghosts don’t always come in chains and sheets. Sometimes, they wear lipstick and scroll in silence.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw a chappal (slippers). I didn’t even blink.
We’ve always had a no-BS, no-dramatics understanding. Both of us believe in moving forward. Once we’re out, we’re out. No late-night ‘I miss you’ messages. No relapses. No “but we were good together” delusions.
That’s literally the only thing we have in common as husband and wife.
Otherwise, we’re polar opposites. Yin and yang. Spotify Discover Weekly and old-school FM radio.
But this? This we agreed on.
So I let it go. Sort of.
Until she didn’t.
Because after that, it wasn’t just a one-time stalk-and-leave. It became a thing. Likes continued to pour in. Story views? Present. Sometimes instantly. Like she had my name set on a Google Alert.
She even messaged me once.
It wasn’t confrontational or exciting. It was just one vague, ‘Hey there 😬’ message — something that pretends to be friendly but lands weirdly. Such DMs make you pause and wonder: Is this kindness or calculated curiosity?
A few weeks later, I told him, “She messaged me.” He raised his eyebrows, half amused, half annoyed. “Again?”
“She’s on a roll,” I said. “Should I start charging rent?”
We laughed it off. I even pushed him to spill more details about their history. He shared a few things, reluctantly. I could tell he was mostly just… done with that chapter.
But clearly, she wasn’t.
Fast forward to this week. I was doing a little professional spring cleaning on LinkedIn, and guess whose name popped up in my “Who’s Viewed Your Profile” tab?
Yep. Her.
Sis went from Insta lurker to LinkedIn creeper.
We’ve officially taken the stalking cross-platform.
Now here’s the thing. I’m not mad. I’m not even flattered. I’m fascinated.
Because somewhere in this twisted little digital dance, something became crystal clear to me:
She’s not obsessed with him.
She’s obsessed with me.
Initially, I told myself I was overthinking it. Social media is messy. Overlapping world. Maybe she was just curious.
But curiosity doesn’t check your stories daily.
Curiosity doesn’t resurface on LinkedIn at 2 a.m.
This was something else. Something stickier.
It’s not even about missing the man. It’s about figuring out what he saw in someone like me. It’s about comparing. Measuring. Replaying her own what-ifs and would-haves. And maybe, just maybe, hoping she still exists in our story.
Let me help her out: she doesn’t.
Not in our story. Not in our marriage. Not in our home.
But maybe in this post. So, if you’re still reading this, girl, hey. Hope you’re doing okay.
And if you ever want to talk skincare tips or how to pick the right life partner, I’m around.
Just don’t view my LinkedIn again at 2 am. It’s getting weird.
If you liked this, clap for this gossip read. And if your partner’s ex is still watching you like a Netflix series, drop a 👀 in the comments. Let’s talk.
Hey there, thanks for making it to the end. I’m an independent journalist and a freelance writer. I write for a living, so if you want to support my work, buy me a coffee or leave a small tip. Every bit truly matters. Even a few claps go a long way. They help more people discover this story and ensure the quiet hours behind the scenes don’t go unnoticed.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Dibakar Roy On Unsplash