How Many People Are You Dating Without Actually Dating Them?

Being single in your twenties is strange because you're technically not dating anyone, but there are at least five people who could text you tonight. Not because they're trying to date you, just because they're bored. Welcome to dating in 2026. 

It's the people you don't call your girlfriend or boyfriend, but who somehow have a reserved spot in your life. The one who sends "u up?" at 12:38 a.m. like it's a monthly wellness check. The person who texts "wanna hang?" only when all their other plans have fallen through. The situationship that never became anything but somehow never really ended. The ex who blocked you on Instagram but still exists in your LinkedIn connections. The person you've been saying "we should catch up" to for the last eight months without either of you meaning it. 

Think hard enough and you'll probably recognize a few of these people. Or, more uncomfortably, you'll realize you've been one of them. 

 A couple of years ago, I downloaded one of those referral-only celebrity dating apps. I thought it'd be a fun experiment - something I'd delete in a week. Two years later, I still find myself unpausing my profile every few months. Not necessarily because I'm looking for love, but because I'm curious. Curious about who is out there, who is available, and who might be worth a conversation. 

 I've matched with all kinds of people: IPL cricketers, struggling actors, founders with suspiciously vague startups, musicians who described themselves as "genre-less," and people who were simply very attractive and deeply unavailable. 

My phone became a museum of almosts , conversations that never really ended but never really moved forward either. Enough to make it feel like my love life was active without actually going anywhere. 

 The roster isn't always about playing people. Sometimes it's just convenience. It's Friday night, your friends are busy, you've exhausted Instagram, and somehow you've ended up watching someone deep-clean a carpet for twenty minutes. So you scroll through your messages instead.

Who is probably free? Who will say yes to last-minute drinks? Who is most likely to reply?    

For the longest time, though, every new conversation had the same problem: there was still one person sitting in the back of my mind. I could meet interesting people, have great conversations, and convince myself I was moving on. Then his name would appear on my phone, and suddenly everyone else became background noise. 

The irony was that I was probably just another chat on his screen. Someone he'd text when he was bored. Someone who got a casual "what are you up to?" instead of an intentional "I've been thinking about you." And somewhere, there was probably someone looking at my chat the exact same way. 

 That's the uncomfortable truth about the modern-day roster. You're waiting for someone's message while they're waiting for someone else's. Meanwhile, someone else is wondering why you haven't replied. 

Everyone thinks they're waiting on the person. 

Maybe growing up in your twenties isn't about finding the person who finally gets you off the roster. Maybe it's about realizing you were never meant to compete for a spot in someone's life. 

 Because the right connection doesn't make you feel like you're auditioning. The roster survives because everyone is waiting to be picked while keeping someone else waiting. 

And maybe the real win isn't finally becoming someone's first choice. Maybe it's becoming the kind of person who no longer needs a roster at all.