At first, it was curiosity. A girl she vaguely knew from high school, now brushing her teeth in a dorm bathroom. A cousin in Chicago, mid-yawn at a desk job. Little windows into unpolished life. It felt honest. Kind.
Her stomach dropped. She refreshed. The photo was still there—he hadn’t deleted it. He didn’t know she could see.
The Viewer showed her: Liam at 9:14 AM, eating cereal in his boxers. Liam at 6:47 PM, gym mirror, face blank. Liam at 12:03 AM, staring at a laptop, alone. bereal viewer
She didn’t pose. She never did anymore. She just pointed the camera at her desk—half-empty coffee, a tangled earbud, a post-it that said “call mom.” The two-minute countdown ticked. Front camera: her tired face, no filter. Post.
She looked up Liam. Her ex. They’d broken up four months ago—his idea. He’d stopped posting on everything else, but BeReal caught him every day at random. She told herself she just wanted to see if he was okay. At first, it was curiosity
At 2:17 PM the next day, her phone buzzed. Time to BeReal.
One night, the notification came late: 11:59 PM. She opened the Viewer. Liam’s photo loaded: a dark room, his phone’s flash illuminating a piece of paper on his nightstand. She zoomed in. Little windows into unpolished life
She started checking three times a day. Then ten. She learned his patterns—when he cooked, when he looked happy, when he looked hollow. She never reacted. Never posted anything he could see. She just watched .