In the town of Havenwood, an unusual epidemic takes over—not one of physical illness, but an outbreak of loneliness. When Lina, a fiery yet secretly tender-hearted skeptic of romance, meets Quinn, a free-spirited artist questioning the same ideas, they are forced to confront whether real connection lies beyond romantic love or if they are truly doomed to solitude.
It was a crisp day in Havenwood, and the sky was brooding—dark clouds laced with impatient energy before a thunderstorm, as if even the heavens felt the town’s growing melancholy. It was not the kind of town you would expect to be cloaked in loneliness. Stone cottages lined the narrow, winding roads, and the trees had that sage-like stillness that you only see in stories and dreams.
I hadn’t been here long when the problem struck me like a slap in the face: everyone was obsessed with finding The One, as if every single person was but half a person, wandering through life like a lost sock in search of its pair. How did a town of charming individuals turn into a place of lonely hearts, staring wistfully into cups of tea and obsessing over dating apps? This was no simple “singles’ crisis”—it was an outright epidemic of loneliness.
"Why does everyone act like romance is the only way to cure loneliness?" I asked Lina one chilly afternoon.
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Who is Lina, and why won’t she believe in love?
Lina had hair the colour of strong coffee and a gaze that could knock you out faster than a double shot of espresso. She had grown up in Havenwood, and if she ever had a belief in fairytale endings, she had long since discarded it along with her childhood toys.
"I don’t know why you are looking at me like that," she said with a wry smile. "I am not the only cynic in town."
She wasn’t, but she was one of the loudest. Every conversation with Lina was like verbal sparring, equal parts humour and bite. She’d never wanted marriage, never wanted kids, and, in her own words, “wasn’t particularly interested in any company she couldn’t send home with a doggy bag and a cab fare.”
“Why does everyone think romance is the only answer?” she mused one
evening. “It is exhausting. If I have to listen to one more person go on about ‘finding themselves’ in a partner, I will throw myself into the sea."
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What’s wrong with Havenwood?
In Havenwood, loneliness had become a kind of status symbol. People wore their broken hearts like badges of honour and posted sad poetry on social media, each poem trying to outdo the last in angst. The epidemic had started quietly, with a few people professing that without a romantic partner, life felt incomplete. But somewhere along the line, the town collectively decided that only romantic love could validate their lives.
The local newspaper even ran statistics. “Did you know,” I read aloud from the article, “that over 78% of Havenwood residents claim they are miserable without a partner?” It was as if companionship could only be delivered via Cupid’s arrow, and everything else was considered emotional breadcrumbs.
And people kept quoting this bizarre statistic, as if a relationship was now as necessary as clean drinking water.
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Can two people be ‘The Cure’ for each other?
When I met Lina, I knew right away that we had a strange camaraderie. She was prickly, yes, but she wasn’t heartless. She found humour in the town’s collective woes, her dark eyes rolling as she described the dating app horror stories her friends regularly shared with her.
We began meeting up at Cuppa Haven, a café tucked between an old bookshop and a bakery, for what I called our “Loneliness Anonymous” meetings. Between sips of our drink of the day—usually some concoction that tasted like chocolate with a hint of regret—we would talk about the epidemic and why neither of us wanted to “join the cult of romance,” as Lina put it.
“Why do you think people can’t stand to be alone?” she asked, stirring her tea so vigorously it threatened to spill over.
“I think it is because no one’s ever taught them that being alone doesn’t mean you are unworthy. Everyone just jumps to the conclusion that if you’re alone, there’s something wrong with you.”
She looked at me, her face serious for once. “So you are saying that being with someone shouldn’t be about filling a void?”
“Exactly,” I said, feeling a rare sense of camaraderie in the quiet of that thought.
What happened when we stopped seeking romance?
Lina and I soon found ourselves frequenting places we’d never gone alone before—a stroll to Havenwood Park at sunset, or trips to the farmer’s market on chilly Saturday mornings, surrounded by the scent of autumn. Sometimes, she’d bring a sketchbook, drawing trees and leaves, a line here and there about the people she saw. “Havenwood might be full of sad hearts,” she said one day, “but it is still a place full of stories.”
Oddly enough, our own connection wasn’t romantic—it was something else entirely. For the first time in my life, I felt seen. And it wasn’t just us. Others began to catch on. Our little “Loneliness Anonymous” group grew as more people realised that they didn’t need to force themselves into relationships just to feel connected.
We learned to listen to each other’s anecdotes, fears, and dreams without the expectation of a “romantic ending.” There was a humour in our gatherings that wasn’t bitter or cynical, just the kind of laughter that made you feel at home in your own skin.
Are we all just lonely together?
A quiet revolution was brewing in Havenwood. Instead of asking, “Are you seeing anyone?” people began asking, “How are you really feeling?” People were having deeper conversations, leaning into friendships, picking up forgotten hobbies, and even—dare I say—finding joy in their own company.
One rainy evening, Lina confessed something that caught me off guard. “You know, I think the real cure for loneliness isn’t romance,” she said, wrapping her hands around her mug. “It is learning to find contentment on your own, and then sharing that with someone—friend, family, whoever.”
That is the funny thing about loneliness, isn’t it? It is only frightening when we think we have to fill it with someone else’s presence. And the people of Havenwood slowly began to realise that maybe, just maybe, the answer wasn’t out there but within.
What did we learn about love and loneliness?
In the end, Havenwood wasn’t cured of its loneliness epidemic by romance. Instead, it found a richer kind of connection—the kind that allowed people to be fully themselves. Lina and I still meet every week at Cuppa Haven, and the café is a little busier these days. Maybe, as we sit there, we’re not alone after all.
And as for Lina? Well, she never did throw herself into the sea. But she did get a puppy—a fluffy little thing she named Hemingway, who now sits between us, wagging his tail like he has known us forever.
Frequently asked Questions About Loneliness and Relationships
Why do people equate loneliness with a lack of romantic relationships?
Many believe that only romance can offer deep, lasting companionship, overlooking friendships and self-love as valuable sources of connection.
2. Can friendship truly cure loneliness?
Friendship, like any genuine connection, can alleviate loneliness by offering emotional support, shared experiences, and a sense of belonging.
3. How can someone find contentment being alone?
Learning to enjoy one's own company, developing interests, and practising self-compassion are great steps to contentment.
4. Is it okay to want a romantic relationship if I am lonely?
Yes, as long as you’re aware that it shouldn’t be the sole solution to feeling fulfilled. Balancing all types of connections is key.
5. Can society's pressure to find “The One” be harmful?
Yes, it can make individuals feel incomplete without a partner, leading to rushed or unhealthy relationships rather than meaningful connections.
Tushar Mangl, Energy Healer, Counsellor, and Author of The Avenging Act. Writes on personal finance, Vastu, mental health, food, leisure, and creating a greener, better society. Speaker and author of Hey Honey Bunch, Ardika, and I Will Do It.
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