“I think I like you.”
“I like you, too.”
“No, I mean I think I’m falling for you.”
It took me a moment for your words to sink in. It felt like I was in a movie: right at the part where the music swells and the protagonist folds their hands together in thoughtful contemplation. How is this happening? How does something like this happen to someone like me? It didn’t feel real because things like this never happen to people like me.
What do I do now?
I could only imagine you from the other side of the screen. Your blushing face buried into your soft duvet, the rosy color of your honest feelings filling from your chest to your ears. Your freckled cheeks, burning. The arch of your smile, bashful. You sat in the blue light of your screen waiting for me to respond to you.
You couldn’t believe you said it. The what-ifs running faster than your racing pulse. Why isn’t she answering me? Did I say something wrong? What if I scared her off? What if she hates me? Should I have waited? What’s taking her so long to reply?
Waiting for me to reply must’ve felt like ages, even if it only took three minutes.
Yep, she hates me. She’s going through her account and deleting me. I’m never going to talk to her ever again. I messed up. I shouldn’t have said it. What a st–
“But what about your boyfriend?”
As much as I was flattered, I couldn’t let that go. I couldn’t forget about your boyfriend. I saw your photos of him. You shared your selfies together with me. His smile – although strange – was all over your blog. As much as I found your company comforting, your honesty heartwarming, I couldn’t let the thought of him pass.
You probably had your reasons for telling me all this. For sharing these intimate feelings with me. You probably knew what you were doing, where this was heading. You probably had this all figured out.
Maybe you were winging it. Maybe you were looking for a way to make this all work. If anyone could do it, you could. Maybe you could make this happen.
Who knows. I certainly didn’t.
The waiting game shifted. It was my turn. I could count the ways where this could all go wrong. I was running all the scenarios in my mind, swiftly and simultaneously. It made my heart clench. It felt like I was driving down the freeway at a hundred miles an hour. This was a rush I’ve never felt before. It felt crazy because it was. It was exhilarating because it was. I could almost see the shape of your hand in mine, your fingers weaving into the gaps of these quiet hands.
And then after what felt like lightyears, you answered:
“Nevermind that. What matters is that I like you.”
Every instinct in my body, every thought in my mind tried to pull the metaphorical breaks of this joy ride. Every red flag was up. Every stop light was on, blinding me with their warnings. The sirens were screaming and screeching that this was a bad idea. But that’s the thing about love, isn’t it? It can blind and deafen you to every warning device known to mankind and at the same time, make it feel like you’re running into the sunset.
But this wasn’t a sunset. This was a tidal wave.
“I like you. I’m falling for you. Do you like me too?”
“I like you, too.”
And this is how I knew it was over.