"I just feel like you're lying to yourself," Nia said, curled up on the couch eating cereal at 9 p.m. like it was a lifestyle choice.
"I'm not," I replied too fast. "It's just... it is what it is."
I didn't meet her eyes. I was staring at my phone, willing it to light up. Muir hadn't texted back. Not for hours. I told myself he was asleep, or skating, or working. He wasn't like me. He didn't crave constant connection. He was "low effort." I knew that from the start.
Still, it stung.
"Walk me through this," Nia said gently. "You like him. He doesn't want a relationship. You agreed to something casual. But now you feel weird when he acts... casual?"
I sighed. "It didn't feel like this in the beginning. We talked all the time. He even called at 2 a.m. once just to talk about life. He told me things he doesn't tell people."
"And that made you think he'd change his mind?" she asked, spoon paused mid-air.
I didn't answer.
She set her bowl down. "You're not built for this, Ariah. You love like it's a promise."
I wanted to push back. But she was right.
I went into it pretending I could handle casual. Be chill. Be someone who could separate body from heart.
But every time Muir said something like:
"You're not my girlfriend."
"I don't want anything serious."
"Let's not overthink this."
Something inside me folded smaller.
And yet, I stayed.
Because in between the lines, there were moments that felt like love. The way he said my name. The late-night check-ins. The way he laughed like I surprised him. The way his fingers brushed mine like it meant something... then didn't.
I was trying to love him from inside the box he built.
And every time I hit the wall, I told myself: You agreed to this. You said it was fine.
But it wasn't.
"Do you think he cares about me?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.
"I think he likes you... in the way that suits him."
"That's not the same," I whispered.
"No. It's not."
And that was the real ache.
It wasn't just the absence of love.It was the presence of almost.