'I flew halfway around the world to meet a man from Instagram. He dumped me mid-sex.'

It all started with an Instagram DM from a handsome stranger. One reaction, a few flirty messages, and suddenly we were FaceTiming daily like we'd known each other forever. Not just once at night — multiple times a day.

He said he liked me. He'd call from work, send heart emojis before I finished typing, text me back within minutes, and drop lines that really moved me.

Tick, tick, tick — he was checking every box.

At the time we first started exchanging messages, I was in Phuket on my working holiday but all I could think about was him.

I was checking my phone every five minutes, waiting for his name to light up the screen.

More than once, I left dinners with friends early to get back to my hotel so we could FaceTime. Out of everyone I could talk to, he was the one I wanted most.

At one point, he asked me not to talk to other men. Even though we had only been talking for a few days and hadn't met in person, I agreed.

All or nothing, right?

Then I found out I had two weeks off. I could fly back home to Melbourne, stay in Phuket, or book a flight to Istanbul to meet him.

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He said, "Come to Turkey. I'll be so happy."

I asked, "But what about work?"

"I'll make it happen. Don't worry," he replied.

"Will you look after me in a foreign country?" I questioned.

"I'll be by your side. I won't get sick of you," he reassured.

We had only been talking for a week. I'm not a spontaneous person. It was now or never. I didn't want to keep wondering what if. I didn't know the next time I'd get time off.

I packed lingerie, hope, and exactly zero common sense and off I went.

I booked a hotel for nine days for the following week. And just like that — he was living with me.

Living together.

Day One:

Hand-holding, kisses, way too much sex. He looked me in the eye and said, "This could be a relationship."

I fell asleep fast and easily, which never happens when someone else is in my bed.

Normally, I lie awake, counting ceiling cracks and resenting every unfamiliar breath beside me. But with him, my guard dropped. My shoulders unclenched, breath evened out, and I drifted off like I'd been sleeping beside him for years.

He slept longer than I did — 12 hours. Maybe he was as comfortable as I was.

My friend back in Australia texted: "How's it going, living with a man you don't know?"

Good question. She was worried he might be angling for something — money, a scam, who knows. I didn't tell him that part, just said she was nervous.

He grinned and said, "Tell her we'll video call later, so she knows you're fine."

Simple, steady. Reassuring.

Day Two:

Anxiety got the better of me and I blurted out, "Do you still like me?"

He laughed, wrapped me in a hug, and said, "You're so silly. Of course I do. I wouldn't take a six-hour bus ride just for sex."

Living together, I started noticing quirks. He drank everything from the mini bar. He stole the good pillows. He turned on the TV while I was trying to sleep. Tiny signs that maybe we weren't quite in sync. But then there was the constant shirtlessness.

The man had abs. Not 'I hit the gym three times a week' abs — full-on Photoshop-escaped-into-real-life abs. Fresh out of the shower, water traced down his chest, towel slung dangerously low, and there I was pretending to check my phone while staring. Zero shame. None.

We wandered cobblestoned streets, tried new foods, got lost in the crowds.

He kept pulling me close, whispering that he hated the noise and the tourists. Same. As an introvert, I got it. For a moment, the crowds disappeared, his hand steady in mine, his presence the answer I didn't know I'd been chasing.

"I packed lingerie, hope, and exactly zero common sense and off I went," writes Liv. Image: Supplied.

Yet, it wasn't to last.

By lunch, the atmosphere shifted. He rolled his eyes when I couldn't choose between kebab or Turkish pide. Fair — I once spent over an hour on UberEats debating between Hawaiian and Meat Lovers pizza.

By dinner, he was scrolling through his phone, sighing. I'd gone from adorable to annoying in the space of a few meals.

We'd planned to travel to his hometown on day four so he could work while we stayed together. But he said he was leaving the next day instead.

"I didn't expect you to come so soon, or for so long. I need to earn money," he said."My family keeps asking where I am and I don't want to lie. Meet me there."

The plan had changed. So had the vibe.

Day Three Morning:

I woke up with my insides coiled tight. My body already knew something my brain hadn't caught up to yet.

I asked if the reason he didn't want us talking to other people was because he wanted to work things out between us. He smirked: "The only man you can talk to is your dad. Not even your brothers."

I took his words as reassurance he was still into us, even as unease gnawed at me.

When I mentioned the conversation to my friend, she warned me: "Don't cut yourself off from other men. I don't think he'll stick around."

That same morning, I showed him a magazine spread I was featured in — professional shots mixed with, yes, a few thirst traps.

He half-laughed, half-huffed.

"I don't like this. Other people will see you like that. Would you like if I did this?" he said.

Sir, that's literally the point of a magazine.

Again, I twisted it into proof that he cared — why else would he be bothered by how strangers saw me?

He also said, "It's only been two days. We need longer to see if this is a relationship."

Makes sense.

"It's too soon to meet my family. Maybe next time," he added.

I'm a logical person. But deep down, the ground was already shifting.

Day Three Afternoon:

In the middle of having sex, he stopped.

"I feel nothing for you."

Boom.

"I don't see a future."

Boom.

"With my ex, I felt something stir inside me."

Boom.

"My feelings for you decrease every day to nothing."

BOOM.

Hallmark should hire this man. Not exactly the climax I'd signed up for.

I flew halfway around the world for a two-day trial. Even Netflix gives you seven.

Reader, I did not orgasm.

The Next Few Days:

I went from love interest to a referral program in under 24 hours. He told me he didn't mind if I went for one of his friends I'd previously met, if that's what I wanted.

Imagine being dumped and wing-manned in the same day. BOOM.

He said it was better to tell me now than 'use' me and hurt me later, and that I could call if I needed anything. Then he left.

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The city closed in. Streets that once looked cinematic now pressed like walls. Depression didn't just hit — it flattened.

Panic attacks struck in cafés, on trams, in ancient streets — chest tight, breath caught, Istanbul itself closing in. Car horns tangled, shopkeepers barked, cobblestones tripped me, and men shouted things I didn't need translated — harassment is universal.

Nights were the worst. Days earlier, I'd fallen asleep beside him without effort. Now, I couldn't shut my eyes without panic clawing me awake. The other half of the mattress stayed untouched, the sheets crisp and cold where his body should have been. Every time I shifted, the silence snapped back at me.

I cried in the middle of the Grand Bazaar, the biggest market in Istanbul. A rug shop owner pulled me inside, sat me on a couch, poured me apple tea, and, without meaning to, became my therapist.

He shook his head: "How could he leave you alone in a foreign country?"

Sir, if you know the answer, DM me.

He asked about my evening plans and offered to introduce me to his friends, so I wouldn't be alone. Before we could continue, he was called away on business.

The next day, I wandered back, hoping to find his shop again and thank him, but the bazaar is a maze — and I hadn't memorised directions through all those tears.

Still, in the middle of my mess, I saw the humanity in people: the rug shop owner who showed kindness to a stranger.

The Lesson.

I went into this with an open heart. The best way for a heart to be. I took a leap of faith. Normally, I'm rational to the point of paralysis — spreadsheeting choices, thinking through every possible outcome. But this time, I jumped.

Was it the stupidest thing I've ever done? Possibly. But bad decisions make the best stories.

Maybe his heart was never fully in it. Or he didn't have the capacity to match mine. Maybe I did something wrong. Maybe we were too much, too soon. Maybe we met in the wrong moment, in the wrong country, under the wrong stars.

The reason doesn't matter. I don't know where he's at — but I know where I am.

And here's what I know: heartbreak won't kill you, but it will make you Google 'can sadness cause organ failure?' at 2am.

Time off isn't always rest — sometimes it's ruin.

But even in the rubble, you can find clarity. If you're going to implode, at least do it in a city with good baklava.

Because sometimes, even when your soul gets shattered, you walk away with a lesson, a scar, or the reminder that love should feel easy, not like a test you keep failing.

Next time though, I'll wait at least three weeks before moving in with someone I barely know.

I'm not crazy. Just catastrophically optimistic.

Feature Image: Supplied.