I literally paid €600 for a solo flight to Portugal specifically to stop crying over my ex, opened Tinder to find cute surfers, and BOOM: matched with my ex because he set his passport to Lisbon. Are you kidding me?! My pulse is at 180 and I hate that a tiny, stupid part of me wants to text him.

Put the phone face down on the nightstand, take a slow breath, and order another sangria: this isn’t fate, it’s just the algorithm playing dirty tricks on your jet lag. Matching with an ex across borders feels wildly cinematic, but look at the reality check. He didn't climb mountains to win you back; he spent two minutes changing a location setting on an app because he was bored on his couch and curious if you were still within reach. That nervous flutter in your chest isn't a sign to try again. It’s withdrawal, plain and simple, triggered by someone throwing a rock through your healing window. Your immediate move: unmatch. Don’t send an angry meme, don’t leave him on read to look cool. Just quietly swipe him out of your holiday, walk down to the beach, and look around. You flew 800 miles to rediscover your own peace—don't let an unpaid tourist visa into your head ruin your sunrise.