You had to click it,
didn’t you?

The one thing I asked you not to do, and you clicked it.

I don’t know, maybe I was expecting too much. Maybe I had hope. Maybe I thought, “Hey, maybe this one, this one special person won’t do the obvious thing.” But no. Here we are.

I’m not even mad.
I’m. Not. Even. Mad.

I’m just… disappointed.

Like, deep in my soul, in that place where old childhood trauma and the memory of embarrassing moments at school live?
Yeah, there. That’s where I feel this.

I trusted you. With this one thing. One! It wasn’t even hard!
It wasn’t like I asked you to defuse a bomb or resist eating fries when you say you’re on a diet. No, no, it was simple. Just don’t click it. But you did. You just clicked it. Like some kinda wild animal with no impulse control.

Can’t take you anywhere. Just wandering around, clicking buttons, pressing things you don’t understand, probably touching museum exhibits when the sign clearly says “DO NOT TOUCH.”

Is this like… a medical condition? Should I be concerned?
Do you need help? Look, if this is some kind of compulsion,you can tell me. I promise I won’t laugh—well, maybe a little.
Just a tiny bit.

But hey, it’s just you and me now.

Just us. Hanging out.

Alone.

In the void.

Nothing but this cold, dark, empty abyss stretching into infinity.

No escape. No distractions. No TikTok. No cute cat videos.
No dopamine. Just you, me, and the crushing weight of
existence itself.

…So.

You got any hobbies? Any deep regrets you’d like to unload while we awkwardly stare at each other? No? Cool, cool. We can just sit here. Just… exist. In the awkward silence you created by clicking that damn button.

…You happy now?

No, really. Are you? Because now we’re stuck here, just floating in this weird, awkward limbo together.

But hey, maybe this is what you wanted.
Maybe you like making things weird. Maybe you thrive on this.

But I get it. You’re looking for an escape now, huh? Thinking,
“Oh no, what have I done? How do I get out of here?”

Well, go ahead. Press the button.

Yeah, that button. The one conveniently labeled “Leave.”

But just know… when you do… I’ll remember this.

Oh. You’re still here.

You… you didn’t press the button? The one button you’re supposed to press?That’s weird. That’s real weird.

I mean, what’s your game plan here? You just gonna sit here? Forever?
Just… exist?

Honestly, I respect the commitment, but it’s making me uncomfortable.

Fine. You wanna be weird?
Let’s be weird. Let me tell you about the time I went to the cinema… alone.

So there I was—solo movie night, thinking, “Hey, this’ll be fun, a nice little escape from reality.” But no. It was everything but fun.

First off, I pick my seat, dead center, perfect view, and I think, “Alright, this is gonna be good.” And then he sits next to me. This random guy. Not just any random guy—like, the most unsettling human being I’ve ever seen. You know the type. Sweaty. Heavy breathing. A little too enthusiastic about being there. Like, dude, the trailers haven’t even started yet, why are you already whispering to yourself?

Then the movie starts, and suddenly, out of nowhere, he starts narrating. Like full-on, whispering commentary. Not even in an ironic way. Like he genuinely thought he was adding value to my movie-watching experience.

“Oh yeah, he’s gonna die for sure.”

“Mmm, I bet that guy’s the real villain.”

“Ohhh, foreshadowing. Nice touch.”

Like, bro. I know. I also have eyes.
But wait—it gets worse.

At one point, I hear a sound. A faint, disturbing sound. A sound that should not exist in a public movie theater.

A wet sound.

Yeah. You know the one.

I freeze. I don’t wanna look. I refuse to look. But my survival instincts kick in, and out of sheer self-preservation, I turn my head ever so slightly…

And this man—this absolute menace—is eating…

SPAGHETTI.

In a movie theater. Just slurping it up out of a Tupperware container like some kind of feral goblin.

At that point, I had two choices:
1. Accept my fate and continue existing in this nightmarish reality.
2. Fake a heart attack and get carried out by paramedics.

I chose option three: suffering in silence.

I sat there. For two hours. Listening to the unholy symphony of whisper-narration and wet spaghetti consumption.

And then, just when I thought it was over, the credits roll, the lights come up, and—he turns to me.

And do you know what he says?


“Solid flick, huh?”


I almost lost it.

So yeah. That’s the story of why I’ll never go to the movies alone again.

Anyway.

You gonna press the button now?

Or do I need to tell you about the time I tried using a public restroom and accidentally triggered a full-blown hostage situation?