Me, My Life & Why Part 13

Part 13

I didn’t realise I’d been explaining myself my whole life, until I met someone who didn’t ask for an explanation.

Alex didn’t flinch at my weird.

He didn’t analyse it, apologise for not relating to it, or gently suggest coping strategies like I was a management problem.

He just… let it be.

One night, I forgot I’d invited him over.

My phone had died, my brain was soup, and I was in bed eating crackers in the dark.

At 8:15pm, he knocked.

I shouted, “Feral!” from under the duvet.

He replied, “Copy that.”

Then sat in the hallway and waited while I decided whether or not I could be a person.

No guilt.

No pressure.

Just quiet presence.

Later, when I finally emerged wearing a hoodie that may or may not have been inside-out, he handed me a hot chocolate and said, “You didn’t miss much. The world’s still weird.”

And that’s how it always was.

Simple. Uncomplicated. Absolutely not normal.

He never once made me feel behind.

Or broken.

Or like I was supposed to be anywhere else but where I was, hoodie, snacks, emotional residue and all.

And in return, I started to soften.

Not perform.

Not mask.

Just exist.

With another human. In real-time. Without effort.

We never had a “define the relationship” talk.

What we had was Tuesday night takeaways eaten on the floor, and the occasional grocery shop where he remembered my oat milk and I reminded him his keys were still in the fridge.

Not romantic.

Not platonic.

Just… very us.

There were no compliments, just observations.

Like when he said, “You get loud when you care about something,” and I almost cried because no one had ever turned that into something kind before.

Or the time he said, “You blink fast when you’re trying not to interrupt,” and I was like… how dare you notice that.

There was something terrifying about being seen with no filter.

And something oddly addictive about not needing one.

I kept waiting for the catch.

The ask.

The moment where the kindness curdled into a condition.

Because I’ve had the love-bombers.

The ones who arrived fast, flattered hard, and then slowly eroded me into someone smaller.

Someone easier to hold.

Alex didn’t do that.

He didn’t shrink me.

Didn’t shape me.

He just stayed.

Consistently.

Quietly.

Without agenda.

It wasn’t boring.

It was revolutionary.

He didn’t flirt with me.

He just remembered things.

Like what snacks I liked. What time I usually woke up (or didn’t). That I couldn’t stand those “gentle reminders” people give when they’re about to passive-aggressively shame you.

He never gave reminders.

Just presence.

And I told myself I didn’t have feelings.

Not like that.

I mean, sure, I thought about him.

A lot.

Like when I saw something weird and thought “he’d get it,” or when I did something vaguely functional and wanted to report it like a toddler who just tied her own shoelace.

But that wasn’t feelings.

That was… appreciation.

Admiration.

Mild obsession.

Shut up.

It was just that I’d never been understood without first having to translate myself.

And now I didn’t have to.

And that felt like love.

But also… freedom.

And that’s the thing.

For the first time, I didn’t want to merge with someone.

I just wanted to orbit next to them, two separate messes with good snacks and synced chaos.

Whatever this was…

It was delightful.

Not perfect.

Not fragile.

Just good.

And for once, I didn’t overthink it.

I just let it happen.