Sometime in the past . . .

Summer dragged after seeing Owen again on the night of my 19th birthday.

He'd sent me a text that night, in the early hours when I'd just got home from The Garage and was getting ready for bed.

It was so nice to see you tonight. You looked gorgeous, by the way. xxx

I could feel the delighted blush heat up my cheeks; the butterflies in my tummy waking up and fluttering themselves into a frenzy. I re-read that message over and over, recalled the accidental lip brush, felt hope ignite in my heart. This was the first time - to my knowledge, anyway - that I'd had a crush that truly seemed to be reciprocated.

I tried not to overthink my reply too much.

Thanks. You're not so bad yourself. ;-) xxx

This felt like the right level of flirty without being too much. In reality, I didn't really have a clue what I was doing.

A response came almost immediately.

:-) I hope I didn't put you on the spot, just accosting you and asking you out like that. I was so nervous and just kinda blurted it out without really thinking. I've been replaying it in my head and wishing I'd been smoother. :-( xxx

His vulnerability was absolutely adorable, and I found myself liking him even more for admitting this. I was quick to reassure him that he had in no way put me on the spot, and that I was glad he'd asked me out. I loved how honest we were at this point - there were no mind-games, no need to second-guess . . . We were just young and sweet and into each other.

I should have really known at this point that it was all too good to be true, shouldn't I? The path of true love rarely runs that smoothly. There are usually potholes, muddy puddles, and random rocks strewn about for you to trip over. And eventually, in my case, I just ran into a massive wall blocking the way forward.

A few days later, Owen checked in at Glasgow Airport on Facebook. I, of course, hit "like" on the post, supportive future potential date that I was. I did not stalk the profiles of every other girl who also liked it. (I'm lying. I totally did.)

I knew the plan; he was to be out in Lanzarote for six weeks, returning mid-September, a week or two before university started again. He had planned to go earlier and stay there longer, but his plans had changed at some point in June - he'd been pretty vague about that actually, simply saying that the couple he was working for had changed the dates on him. And, to be honest, I didn't query it too much as the changed schedule had allowed him to pop up on my birthday!

I knew those six weeks were going to seem more like six months, but the contact I got from Owen made it easier. He would send me photos of his surroundings - pretty beaches, the bar he was working in. He would tell me he wished I was there to share it with him. And he'd frequently refer to how much he was looking forward to our upcoming date.

Then, one day, a few weeks into his working holiday, the contact just .  . . stopped.

I didn't really think too much of it at first when 24 hours passed and I hadn't received any message from him. But then the clock started heading towards the 48-hour mark, and I began to worry.

Is everything okay with you?x

I'd eventually had to ask. (Only one kiss, you'll notice. I may have been concerned, but I was also pissed off.) He replied almost straight away, which actually annoyed me more.

Sorry! Been so busy here the last few days, but all good! Just rushed off my feet. Hope you're okay too. xxx

Hmm. Three kisses or not, I just knew something was off.

I decided not to reply. After all, he hadn't asked me any leading questions, nothing to encourage me to continue the conversation. In fact, the whole tone of the message had just come across as weird. I may not have known Owen particularly well in real life, but we'd spent enough time together virtually for me to recognise a distinct change in tone. And, as much as I liked him, I was determined not to chase him.

Two days more went by without contact, me stubbornly refusing to initiate anything further this time. And within a week of the start of the weird behaviour, I woke up to a new Facebook status update from the guy who had turned stranger on me.

Owen Sullivan: Big decision made! My boss has been kind enough to offer me a permanent job here, so I'll be staying in Lanzarote for the foreseeable future. I've done a bit of soul-searching while I've been here and realise uni isn't for me. I'm not sure how long I'll be here, but the Canary Islands will be my new home for now!

What the actual fuck?

Was this some type of joke? Or a nightmare? I pinched myself, yelping in pain as I blinked back tears and looked at my phone screen again. Nope, I was apparently wide awake, and the words were still there, swimming in front of me.

Owen wasn't coming back.

And, rather than actually tell me directly, he'd decided to announce it to the world on fucking Facebook!

I was furious and - not gonna lie - a little bit heartbroken at the same time. I'd let myself get a bit carried away, I suppose, thinking past the first date and imagining we might have a future together. Which was absolutely ridiculous of me, given we'd barely spent any real time together.

I'd really liked him though. And I thought he had liked me.

Apparently not.

I messaged him then. Saw your news. Good luck.x

It pained me to even type those words.

Once again, I got an almost immediate response.

Hey Mirren! Sorry for not letting you know sooner - this last week has just been a bit of a shitshow, and my head is messed up. I really was looking forward to seeing you soon, but this is just something I have to do. I hope we can still stay in touch though. xxx

Any hope that I had somehow misinterpreted the Facebook update was now completely out the window. Tears blurred my eyes once again.

Of course we can. If you need to talk, I'm always here. xxx

And, in that moment, I meant those words. I was getting the impression that something significant had happened this week, and it had changed him somehow. Changed everything. I looked at Facebook again. Underneath the update were tons of supportive responses from well-wishers. He'd replied to none of them.

Thanks, Mirren. I really appreciate that. Sorry again. xxx

I read his message, sighed, and tossed my phone on the bed. That was that, then.

Our contact mostly fizzled out from that point on, with only the occasional "how are you?" text or funny meme being volleyed between us. Before, each message had been leading to something, helping to grow our bond. And now . . . Well, there was that damn metaphorical wall I mentioned earlier. With Owen staying in Lanzarote indefinitely, there seemed little point in continuing. And it's not like he was exactly fighting to keep the dialogue between us flowing either.

Despite everything though, I felt somehow like I had to stay in touch with him. Partly because I genuinely was worried about him. And also because that little bit of hope still lingered on, and I didn't know why. But it stopped me from moving on completely. Prevented me from flirting with Stuart McDonald, the handsome guy on my course who was clearly into me.

I kept the line of communication with Owen open until a rainy day in mid-October. On that particular day, I woke up to two things.

A message from Owen, asking if we could talk.

And a Facebook update he was tagged in. The first Facebook activity from him since his big announcement.

It was a fucking couplie! I don't know if we were calling them "couplies" that long ago, but that's indeed what it was.

A girl, a beautiful perfect girl called Francesca, was smiling beside him, and the caption said "Just love this guy so much!", and my heart shrivelled and turned to dust in that moment.

It was now glaringly obvious why Owen had decided to stay away. He'd met someone he liked better than boring old me.

I looked at the message from him again, relieved I hadn't immediately replied.

Mirren, can we talk? Xxx

I could only assume he was planning to come clean about his new girlfriend. And I didn't want to hear it. I'd been fretting about him, thinking something was wrong and he might need support from me . . . And in reality, it turned out he'd found a shiny new toy and simply didn't want me anymore.

I think it's better that we don't. Take it easy, Owen. X

I waited a few minutes after sending, just to ensure he got my response.

Then, I blocked him on everything that had once linked us together. I cried as I did it, but it felt surprisingly therapeutic to cut the cord like that.

And, later that same day, I finally started flirting with Stuart McDonald - or Donnie, as he was known to his friends.

So . . . Are we still Owen fans???

And was Mirren too hasty in blocking him?

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