I was in the middle of researching Eldest Daughter Syndrome for a story when my phone buzzed with a familiar notification. A text from an unknown number. (Well, not entirely unknown—I knew exactly who it was.) "Hey stranger," it read. I rolled my eyes. Oh, Luke. Again?
Let me back up. When I first met Luke (years ago), there were fireworks. The conversation felt like a game of cat and mouse—he was undeniably charming and our chemistry was palpable. We went on two dates that left me giddy, FaceTiming friends on the cab ride home with details. But then, just as I was thinking, “is this something?” he disappeared. One day we were bantering over Negronis; the next, radio silence. Was I confused? Yes. Heartbroken? Not quite. It was two dates—hardly enough time to warrant a teary-eyed binge of The Way We Were.
Since then, however, an interesting pattern has emerged. Every three to six months, right when I’ve nearly forgotten Luke exists, my phone lights up with an ambiguous “Hey stranger.” It’s as if no time has passed. And while his casual check-ins aren’t vexing, per se, as relationship writer, I do find them fascinating. Why circle back after the train has left the station? If we were hooking up, I’d at least understand it from a practical standpoint—why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? But for a PG relationship (that never led to him coming upstairs), I can’t see the logic behind his attempts to keep me on the hook.
Until one day, I saw TikTok had named the phenomenon: Subarmining.