My ex broke up with me after four years together. I spent the next month pretending I was fine, going to work, hitting the gym, and checking her profile at 1 AM like an unpaid private investigator.
Then I downloaded Hinge.
I matched with a woman who had written, “I will judge your playlist, not your salary.”
We met at a tiny café. She wore a black kurta, had an unfairly good smile, and roasted my music taste within seven minutes.
I liked her immediately, which was inconvenient because I had a whole tragic-man routine planned.
Our dates became a habit. Sunday breakfast, evening walks, sharing headphones on the metro, sending each other stupid reels during work.
One night, we were sitting on her balcony. She was wearing my jacket, and I was trying very hard not to stare at her mouth every time she spoke.
She noticed.
“Are you going to kiss me or keep pretending you're thinking about the weather?”
I kissed her.
She kissed me back, then pulled away just enough to look at me.
“Are you actually over your ex?”
I hated that question because it was fair.
I told her the truth: I wasn't completely over the past, but I didn't want to use her to escape it.
She said she wasn't interested in being someone's emotional waiting room.
We slowed things down. I stopped checking my ex's profile. I started showing up for this woman as herself, not as a cure.
Three months later, we're still dating.
She still judges my playlist.
She was right about the music, too.