Friday morning. Coffee in hand. Dog sleeping nearby. Bills aggressively negotiating. A phone number I don’t recognize appears on WhatsApp. The message reads:
“Can’t believe you are still alive.”
Straight to mortality. The digital equivalent of a raven landing on your windowsill and delivering a handwritten note. Naturally, I responded the only way a normal person would.
“lol of course I stay good ”
Because despite what my bank account may suggest, I am in fact still among the living. The stranger replied:
“That’s good to know. I am glad you are doing well.”
At this point, I was intrigued. Not because I enjoy cryptic messages from unknown numbers before I’ve finished my coffee, but because I immediately recognized the energy.
This was not the energy of a scammer. Scammers want something. This was the energy of someone who wanted to be mysterious. Someone who wanted me to wonder. So I asked the obvious question.
“Who’s this?”
A completely reasonable request. If you are texting me, surely you know who you are. The stranger, however, had other plans.
“It’s not important. I am just glad you are doing great. You can maybe call me a well wisher.”
A well-wisher… as if we were characters in a nineteenth-century novel. As if this man had not appeared from the shadows of WhatsApp at 7:50 in the morning to confirm my continued existence.
The stranger used my full given name. Not Karny. Not the name I write under. Not the name most people know me by today. My full legal first name. The kind of name that belongs to old report cards, childhood memories, and people who knew me long before Maison 129 existed.
I asked again. Who was he? Nothing. No real answer. Just more mystery. At this point, I had four possible suspects. Two of them would have been pleasant surprises. The other two belonged to the category of men I can only describe as Human Side Quests. The type who appear unexpectedly, create confusion, contribute nothing useful, and somehow leave you more tired than when you started. So I decided to conduct an experiment. Years ago, I heard a piece of advice that made me laugh so hard I never forgot it.
When someone won’t leave you alone, don’t argue.
Don’t fight.
Don’t insult them.
Ask them for money.”
I had never actually tried this before. Until now.
So I replied:
“Send me money 🤑”
The response was immediate.
“For what dummy? 🤣🤣”
Interesting. Suddenly, our mysterious well-wisher was no longer speaking like a Victorian ghost. Now he was speaking like somebody’s annoying cousin. So I pushed further.
“Okay then fuck your well wishes”
His response?
“Well wishes don’t mean I gotta fund you, and pay your bills. lol”
There it was. The entire mask slipped. Because the funny thing is, I wasn’t actually asking for money. I wasn’t expecting an e-transfer. The money wasn’t the point.
The point was seeing what happened when a cost was introduced. Not even a real cost. Just the suggestion of one. And suddenly the mysterious well-wisher became very concerned about his financial obligations.
Which was fascinating. Because if someone I genuinely cared about jokingly asked me for money, my first question wouldn’t be:
“Why should I pay your bills?”
My first question would be:
“Is everything okay?”
The response told me everything I needed to know. Not about his finances. About his intentions. The mystery wasn’t about caring. The mystery was the point. He enjoyed knowing who I was while refusing to tell me who he was. The imbalance was the entertainment. So I finally replied:
“You’re creepy”
“Bye”
His final message?
One word.
“Ciao.”
Of course. What else could it have been? Not his name. Not an explanation. Not a confession. Not closure. An Italian farewell.
The curtain dropped. The actor exited the stage. The mystery remained unsolved. And honestly? I don’t care. Because somewhere between:
“Can’t believe you’re still alive.”
and
“I don’t gotta pay your bills.”
the entire interaction stopped being about who he was. The truth is, the people who genuinely belong in your life rarely make you guess. They don’t emerge from the digital fog like Victorian ghosts with prepaid phone plans. They don’t hide behind cryptic messages and anonymous numbers. They introduce themselves. And if they don’t?They’re probably just another side quest. Funny for a Friday morning.Not important enough to become part of the main storyline.
Ciao. 🤭
Editor’s Note
A few readers may remember that earlier this year I published a piece titled Why I Deleted My WhatsApp. At the time, I genuinely believed I was finished with the app. Unfortunately, adulthood had other plans.
In May, I accepted a contract position that uses WhatsApp as its primary communication tool. The work is worthwhile, the people are lovely, and the income is appreciated. The app itself, however, remains on thin ice.
I still believe many of the things I wrote in February. I still think modern technology has blurred the line between access and connection. I still think social media has convinced people that visibility is the same thing as friendship. And I still find it strange that work increasingly follows people home through group chats, notifications, and messaging platforms.
The irony, of course, is that I only reinstalled WhatsApp for work, updated my profile photo, and shortly afterward received the mysterious message that inspired this entire story. Life has a sense of humour. As for the app itself, my long-term goal remains the same.
I admire people who have intentionally reduced their dependence on digital platforms and reclaimed a little privacy for themselves. One of my favourite examples is Quentin Tarantino, who has spoken openly about avoiding many of the technologies that dominate modern life.
Whether or not I ever reach that level of digital minimalism remains to be seen. For now, I use the tools I need to use. But I remain unconvinced that more connection has made us feel more connected. If anything, the opposite often seems true.
And if a mysterious stranger from the archives appears in my messages again, I will probably ask them for money.