The next night, Mike noticed a new post from Lotus. Its title was cryptic and melancholic: “Lost in the Cold Wind.”

She wrote:

“Traveling between my inner world and reality, I feel my soul and flesh tear apart. It’s not pain; it’s a complete sense of destiny. God has written the script, and I am merely an actor. In reality, everyone I know wears a mask. We interact according to rules, with clear boundaries and untouchable bottom lines. But with my virtual companions, I can’t see their faces, yet what I touch is a profound fullness.”

Each line cut straight through him. Her words were like an echo of his own hidden life, as if she were writing directly from his mind. He even caught himself thinking—if he had met Lotus back then instead of Amanda, if time could be reversed, would he have chosen differently?

The loneliness of the night pressed in like a tide. He pictured Lotus’s smile, the imagined warmth of her presence—something he had never quite found in real life. In the chatroom he wrestled with his guilt, silently weighing whether every message he typed was another small betrayal of his family. The tension inside him coiled tighter, until finally, in a kind of exhausted despair, he sought release alone in the dark, hoping dreams might grant him a reprieve.

By morning, a new post from Lotus appeared on the forum. This one was longer, a lament titled “If One Day I Lose You…” Her words poured across the screen like a tide of grief:

“If one day I lose you, I don’t know how I would live. I might wander aimlessly, a soulless shadow drifting without purpose…

If one day I lose you, I will no longer know how to face the night. Memories will pale and crumble.

If one day I lose you, I will drink alone in a strange city at dusk. I will go silent, for no words can carry the pain.

If one day I lose you, I will seal away our memories, heal this unhealing wound, and wait for the warm sunlight of dawn…

But that day has come. I drag my hollow shell through the concrete jungle, looking at dim asphalt roads at night, unsure what awaits me at the end. Only endless loneliness remains. Goodbye for the rest of my life. I wish you well.”

Mike exhaled slowly, his fingers trembling above the keyboard. He couldn’t find the words to answer. Lotus’s voice, her posts, the warmth of the forum had become both his escape from reality and a growing resistance to it.

Meanwhile, the pressure at work mounted. The sales department had entered a new round of competition. Targets grew tighter. Meetings crackled with tension. By day he wore the mask of an ambitious salesman; by night, in his hotel room, he slipped into another self, immersing in the only space where he felt understood. The duality was pulling him apart.

One damp weekend night, Mike sat alone on his balcony. Neon lights flickered in the distance; the air smelled of rain. He logged into the chatroom. Lotus was online.

“I’m not in a good mood today. I can’t sing,” she typed.

His chest tightened. He wanted to comfort her but could only write: “It’s okay. I understand.”

Her reply came swiftly: “Thank you. It’s good to be understood.”

Just two lines, yet they stung him more deeply than he expected. He thought of Amanda and the children—how words between them had grown sparse, how comfort had become awkward and rare. Yet here, with a stranger, he could forge intimacy with nothing more than text.

A cold wave of panic rose in him. If this virtual closeness continued, what would be left of his real family? He began keeping a diary, spilling onto the page his guilt, his longing, his slow drift toward the edge:

“I walk between two worlds. One is reality, the other the online world at night. Reality’s responsibilities suffocate me. The warmth of the internet holds me captive. I don’t know how much longer I can last.”

Late at night, Lotus’s singing—recordings now, not live—washed over him like a tide, soothing and dangerous all at once. He closed his eyes, imagining he could split himself cleanly in two: a good husband and father by day; at night, in the Harbor of the Soul, the man called Chasing the Distant, free and understood.

But reality would not stay away. The phone would ring. His child would cry. Amanda’s voice would cut through the static. None of it could vanish. And somewhere ahead lay a difficult path, one that might demand painful choices.

Mike sighed softly, looking out at the neon night. The city roared on, restless and bright. Inside, for the first time, his heart felt both understood and completely lost.