“I got a notification.”
I laughed.
“Seriously? You can barely tell it’s you.”
“I’m asking you to take it down.”
His tone wasn’t angry.
That almost made it worse.
It was calm.
Controlled.
Like someone trying very hard not to panic.
I looked back at the picture.
“Tyler, people can’t even see your face.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I just don’t like it.”
I stared at the screen.
“You realize your shoulder isn’t exactly classified information, right?”
He didn’t laugh.
“Kim.”
Just my name.
Quiet.
Heavy.
The smile slowly disappeared from my face.
“Please,” he continued more gently. “Delete it.”
“Can you at least explain why?”
There was a long pause.
Finally he sighed.
“Pictures change things.”
“What does that even mean?”
“They invite people into something that should stay between us.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You know how people are. They ask questions. They judge. They create drama where there isn’t any.”
“My aunt liked the photo, Tyler. I don’t think she’s launching an investigation.”
Another silence.
Then he spoke so softly I almost missed it.
“I love what we have. I don’t want outside voices ruining it.”
That sentence landed exactly where he intended.
It sounded thoughtful.
Protective.
Romantic, even.
And somehow, despite my confusion, guilt started creeping in.
Maybe I was making too much of it.
Maybe this was simply one boundary that mattered deeply to him.
I deleted the post.
Almost immediately, the tension disappeared from his voice.
“Thank you,” he said warmly.
“I appreciate it.”
After we hung up, I stared at the blank space where the pictures had been.
Something about the conversation lingered in my chest.
Not because of what he’d said.
Because of how relieved he’d sounded once they were gone.
I pushed the feeling aside.
Over the next few weeks, I found myself replaying other moments I’d ignored over the years.
Like the office holiday party.
Everyone else brought their partners.
Tyler claimed he had food poisoning.
The next morning he looked perfectly healthy.
Or the afternoon we’d bumped into one of his coworkers downtown.
“This is Kim,” he’d said casually.
No girlfriend.
No introduction beyond my first name.
The conversation ended thirty seconds later.
As soon as the coworker walked away, I joked, “Am I in witness protection?”
Tyler smiled.
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