(Credits: Netflix)

There was a time when Netflix rom-coms meant comfort. You pressed play knowing exactly what to expect. A meet-cute, a misunderstanding, a big kiss, and perhaps a playlist of acoustic pop songs to carry it all home. It was easy, soothing, and safe. But lately, something’s shifted.

You sit down expecting flirty banter and predictable kisses in the rain. Instead, you are ambushed by scenes that feel like they were written to personally hurt you. There is still love, of course, and sometimes laughter. But more often than not, there is also grief, heartbreak, identity crises, and quiet scenes of someone breaking down on public transport.

Someone Great might have been the first warning sign. Marketed as a girls’ night breakup comedy, it instead delivers a devastating portrait of endings, not just of relationships, but of entire chapters in your life. The film made crying on the subway feel like a rite of passage.

Then came films like Love at First Sight, which masquerades as a sweet airport-meet-cute but dives deep into the weight of grief and timing. Even the final To All the Boys film took the dreamy high-school romance and turned it into a meditation on growing up, letting go, and the terrifying calm of moving on.

And let’s not forget The Half of It. A soft, quiet film about a love triangle that somehow hurts more than most full-blown tragedies. It is thoughtful, restrained, and emotionally loaded in ways you do not expect until it is too late. Even a seemingly light title like Set It Up, with its workplace scheming and romantic hijinks, sneaks in the existential dread of doing work that does not matter.

These films catch you off guard. You come for the serotonin but leave with a knot in your chest. Sometimes it is grief (One Day), sometimes regret (Your Place or Mine), and sometimes that invisible ache of missed chances (Look Both Ways). Netflix rom-coms used to be a safe space. Now they hand you tissues before the third act.

What is most interesting is how gentle the pain feels. It is never overwrought. It slips in through small moments like a never-returned voicemail, a plane missed, or a song played too late. Always Be My Maybe is a perfect example. It is marketed as a quirky reunion rom-com but quietly deals with abandonment, grief, and self-worth in between the laughs.

So, when exactly did this shift happen? Maybe it was gradual. Maybe Netflix realised that modern love stories are not about perfect people finding perfect endings. They are about growing apart, failing upward, and making peace with choices that do not always lead to fairy tales.

We are not just watching people fall in love anymore. We are watching them break apart, heal, and figure out who they are in the process. Love is still there, but it is messier now. More vulnerable. And somehow, more real.

So the next time you hit play on Netflix rom-coms expecting a feel-good hour and a half, do yourself a favour. Grab a blanket, keep tissues nearby, and maybe text your therapist.

Because these days, even love stories come with emotional damage.