A new folder appeared in her mind: .
was for the aggressors. The people who quote-tweeted her hot takes about a TV show finale just to add, "L take, go touch grass." The man who DM’d her a single eggplant emoji at 2 AM. The anonymous accounts with default avatars and pinned retweets of Andrew Tate.
The block list wasn't a prison. It was a filter . Every second she spent explaining to Tom why "just asking" was a form of exhaustion was a second she wasn't writing her novel, or calling her mom, or taking a deep breath and feeling the sun on her face.
She snorted.
Tom wasn't Red. He wasn't even Blue. He was a new color. The tone police. The concern troll. The man who thought his "logical" assessment of her "emotional" reaction was a gift he was bestowing.
Tonight, Lena was adding number 1,248.