A weired pattern

At times I wonder why some men behave a certain way. They are so lovey dovey and caring when alone and act like a stranger when society sees them. Did you face such a situation? I saw many and I am citing some fictional stories not naming the respected individuals. No offense to the true men but wanted to address the hypocrite coward ones. Five men, five masks. Sweet in the inbox, strangers in the crowd. Let’s start. Would love to hear your thoughts. 1. The College Boy Riya’s phone buzzed at midnight. “Good morning, sunshine . I couldn’t sleep thinking about you. You’re my everything. Can’t wait to hold your hand under the stars,” typed Arjun. Riya smiled, though a little blush crept up her cheeks. The next day in the college canteen, she walked up to him. He was with three of his friends, laughing loudly. “Hi, Arjun,” she said softly. Arjun froze, then forced a fake cough. “Oh hey… uh… you’re in my English class, right? Sorry, what was your name again?” Riya raised an eyebrow. “Really? The same ‘nameless girl’ you send ‘my sunshine’ messages to at 2 a.m.?” His friends laughed awkwardly, and Arjun nearly choked on his samosa. 2. The Young Professional Every night, Meera’s phone glowed. “Babe, today was so hard at work, but you make it all worth it . You’re my secret smile.” She rolled her eyes but typed back anyway. At the office annual party, Meera walked toward him in her red dress. Everyone was standing in groups. Raj, the same “sweetheart-sender,” stiffened. “Oh, hello… colleague!” he said loudly, as though announcing to the room. “How’s the… uh… quarterly reports?” Meera smirked. “The reports are fine. Should I also update the team about your midnight poetry, or keep that in ‘draft’ mode?” Raj’s face turned the shade of a tomato- a rotten one. 3. The Married Man (Age 40) On WhatsApp, Anita read his line: “You’re the only one who understands me. My wife just doesn’t get me. Every time I see your name, my heart races.” At a wedding two weeks later, they crossed paths. His wife stood nearby, chatting with relatives. “Oh!” he exclaimed nervously. “This is my… distant friend. We just exchange… thoughts sometimes. Very formal, of course.” Anita folded her arms. “Yes, very formal. Formal enough to send fifty red hearts in one message.” His wife turned curiously, and he coughed like a man choking on his own guilt. But at the market, when they ran into each other near the vegetable stall, he nearly dropped his potatoes. “Namaste, beti!” he said loudly, glancing around. “How is your family? Good, good… study well, hmm?” She smiled sweetly. “Of course, Uncle. Though in your DMs, you don’t call me ‘beti,’ you call me ‘sweetheart.’ Quite the slip of tongue, hmm?” He fumbled with the coriander leaves, pretending not to hear. 5. The Retired Gentleman (Age 65) Every night at 10:30 p.m. sharp, his message arrived for Preeti: “Loneliness feels lighter when I talk to you. You make my evenings bright, my dear rose .” One morning at the park, his old friends were sitting on a bench when she walked by. He quickly waved and muttered, “Oh yes, she’s just the neighbor’s daughter. I barely know her.” The lady smiled knowingly. “Barely? You’ve been calling me your ‘rose’ for six months straight. Should I bring screenshots for your walking club?” His friends burst into laughter, while he hid behind his newspaper. One fine evening, fate — or maybe karma — decided to play its game. All five ladies happened to meet at the same cafe during a weekend open-mic event. Over cappuccinos, they started talking. Within minutes, the puzzle fit together — each one had a “Romeo” who was sugar-dripping in private messages but colder than an ice block in public. Riya laughed. “Mine calls me sunshine at midnight and ‘what’s your name again?’ in the canteen.” Meera smirked. “Mine turns from ‘babe’ into ‘colleague’ in front of the team.” Anita rolled her eyes. “At least yours aren’t married and calling you a ‘formal friend’ in front of their wife.” The others gasped, then burst out laughing. The “Uncle’s sweetheart” Nancy spoke next. “Well, I’m beti at the bazaar, darling in the inbox. He deserves a Padma Shri in acting.” Finally, the “Retired Rose” sighed Preeti. “And me? I’m a neighbor’s daughter by morning, but a rose by night. This man thinks he’s running a flower shop.” The cafe shook with their laughter. Just then, as if destiny planned it, the five men walked in — together — chatting loudly. Each spotted his “secret sunshine,” “colleague,” “friend,” “beti,” or “rose.” Their faces turned pale like milk. The women exchanged a look, then one of them stood up, raised her coffee cup, and declared loudly: “To the men who are Casanovas in DMs and monks in public. May their Wi-Fi always drop when they type my love.” The cafe erupted in claps and chuckles. The men, embarrassed and fumbling, tried to hide behind the menu. And just like that, the women enjoyed their coffee, leaving the men to sip their own hot brew of dualism and shame.