Page 2 of The Ex-cavenger Hunt

Me: Watch me.

I honestly don’t know exactly what I’m telling her to watch though. I have a man embargo after the last failed relationship. But also, I can’t let her win. Even though I hate doing it, I go through the crap she texted me.

Articles like, “Are You Ready for Love?”, “Is It Me?” . . . I’m about to throw my tablet against the wall when I open the next one, it’s an article that promises the secret pathways to love: “Unearthing Authentic Affection: An Expedition into Self-Discovery and Reflection.”

In the labyrinthine realm of love, where heartbreaks are as common as awkward first dates, how do we truly know when we’ve stumbled upon our soulmate?

It’s a question that has baffled philosophers and poets for centuries. But what if the answer lies not in looking forward but in retracing our steps?

Embarking on a journey of reflection can be enlightening. Revisiting past relationships offers a unique perspective on our patterns, preferences, and pitfalls. It provides us with an opportunity to analyze our romantic history from a distance, offering insights that may have been overlooked during the whirlwind of emotions.

Whether it is the high school sweetheart who made your heart flutter with his charming smile or the college boyfriend who shared your dreams but couldn’t keep up with them; each relationship contributes to our understanding of love and self.

So before you swipe right again or accept that blind date your friend has been pestering you about, take a moment. Reflect on past loves and learn from them. Who knows? You might discover that one ex-flame still holds a spark worth rekindling or perhaps find clarity in what you truly seek from love.

After all, isn’t true love about understanding ourselves better so we can connect more authentically with others? So go ahead—dust off those old photo albums, revisit those memories, and embark on your own expedition into self-discovery and reflection. True love might be waiting just around the corner of memory lane.

“Memory lane, huh?” I mutter to myself, my voice laced with a hint of irony. I lean back on the couch, my eyes fixed on the tablet in my hands. If only the solution to my love life could be found in the soft glow of the screen.

Are they telling me that I missed out on love because I . . . What happened? I probably failed to recognize my soulmate. Is that even a thing?

There’s a pinch of anxiety gnawing my insides. I feel it in the way my stomach clenches and the way my breath catches in my throat. With each sentence, the fear of missing out grows heavier, like a stone settling in the pit of my stomach. It’s as if whoever wrote this article knows me, knows about the string of Mr. Almost-Rights that make up my dating history.

“Could any of them have been The One?” I whisper to the room, half-expecting one of my quirky art pieces to answer back.

I’ve always been the girl who wears her heart not just on her sleeve but practically on her forehead, flashing neon for the world to see. Yet here I am, wondering if, in all my creative endeavors to find love, I’ve inadvertently ignored someone important. Someone whose impact on my life may have been more than fleeting but I didn’t recognize him.

The thought sends a shiver down my spine, and I can’t help but let out a nervous sigh. It’s typical of me to focus too much on the small things and overlook the big picture. In this situation, I didn’t realize I was neglecting the main aspects of my own love story by getting caught up in trivial matters.

“Come on, think,” I urge myself. There has to be a pattern, a common thread among the men I’ve loved and lost. Is lost the right word?

Loved and dumped?

Okay, I dumped some, others dumped me and . . . not everything is black and white, is it?

But as the article suggests, it’s time to reflect on the past but not to dwell on it. No, this is about learning, about piecing together the puzzle of my heart.

“Let’s do some soul-searching,” I say with a renewed sense of purpose, though the tightness in my chest tells me it’s not going to be all fun and games.

But won’t it?

“Potential partners,” I repeat under my breath, rolling the phrase around on my tongue. It sounds so clinical, so devoid of the magic and spark I associate with love. And yet, it’s precisely what I need to explore to get someone through the scrutinizing eyes of my sister. There’s no way I’m going to be close to Ethan.

I’ve only met him a couple of times from afar and he’s not very friendly. Cleo has told us about him. Pretentious, manipulative, self-centered . . . he barely treats his family well and when he’s around, he’s intolerable.

There’s no way I’m dealing with someone like that during Bridezilla’s nuptials. I jump up from the couch, my feet itching to move as anxiety nips at my heels. Pacing around the house, I try to shake off the restless energy, but my mind won’t quit buzzing. The old wooden floorboards creak and groan beneath me, like they’re protesting my sudden burst of activity.

I’m halfway across the living room when I freeze, my head spinning with a whirlwind of names and faces, each one dragging up a memory that plays like a scratched record. It’s a jumble of what-could-have-beens and almost-loves, a mental playlist that skips and stutters, never quite making it to the end of the song.

Chapter Two

Lily

Don’t let Cleo play with your head, Lily Harper. Talk to someone who doesn’t get a kick by playing with your feelings. But lecturing myself isn’t working at all.

I grab my phone and scroll through the contacts until I find ‘Zoe <3,’ my older sister and eternal voice of reason—or so she claims.

“Are you calling to drag me to our parents’ home?” she asks, her voice tinged with a hint of exasperation. “Because I’m not going to be a part of the Cleo-fest. She’s gone from bridezilla to . . . I don’t even know what comes after that.”

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