We met on Hinge, went on four dates, and spent two months pretending we were too chill to ask what we were.
He remembered my coffee order, called me after difficult workdays, and once travelled forty minutes just to bring me medicine when I had a fever.
Then there were the nights when he would call at 11:30 PM, ask if I was awake, and somehow turn a conversation about my terrible manager into hours of flirting.
I thought we were slowly becoming something real.
One evening, we were sitting in his car outside my PG. It was raining, the windows were fogging up, and neither of us seemed interested in ending the conversation.
He held my hand and kissed me.
I went home smiling like a complete fool.
The next morning, a friend sent me his Instagram profile. A girl had posted a birthday story for him with the caption, “My favourite person.”
They had matching pictures. Old pictures. Couple pictures.
I confronted him.
His answer? “It’s complicated. We’ve been having problems.”
Naturally. The official anthem of men who want girlfriend privileges without girlfriend responsibilities.
I asked him why he was on Hinge.
He said he liked talking to me.
I told him I liked talking to people who were actually single.
I haven't replied to his last six messages.
The embarrassing part isn't that I caught feelings. It's that he made me feel chosen when he was only making room between two other things.