He keeps track of your online alter-ego’s moves diligently, only nodding quietly when you tell him stories he has already read earlier – thanks to the published jottings on your activity timeline.
She follows your blog religiously, curious but caring not at all for your pseudonym of choice – despite your entries not having the ridiculous twists and turns and potential makings of a long-running British soap opera.
Others may recognise you only by name, but some strangers know you more than you think they do.
And then you spy out of the corner of your very eye, the shy minute glimpses trained on you instead of a verbal “hi”.
So we carry on with a tango that no one else is privy to – pull back too far, and you get a knowing look that threatens to spill to the world the deepest secrets of your inner being; dance to the tune, and she gives you a vengeful glare and a series of cynical comments on your social wall in return for a swollen toe and a ripped skirt.
Soon enough, it becomes yet another core ingredient in a race without the finish line in sight. It is no longer just a survival of the fittest; sometimes you have to dig deeper into your roots, latch on to your sole identity, and protect it at all costs just to live to see another tomorrow.