I believed that there was someone “out there” who was “meant for me”, someone divined by the stars to be by my side through this life. I had very strong preconceived notions on what this person would be like, and I was certain that there would be no one else but this person with whom I would fall in love.
When she came into my life, there were no fireworks, not even sparks. After our first conversation, I thought she was an interesting person, but not one with whom I would be close to. She was too different from me, I thought. But over time, we somehow became pretty close friends.
Still, I was adamant that any notion linking us romantically, no matter how remote, was a lie. I even told a close, mutual friend of ours, that the great thing about the friendship between me and her was that “we’re close friends, yet there’s no chance of anything romantic ever happening.”
One day, however, I lingered a little too long on the thought of the possibility of something more between us. Nipping it in the bud before the thought took on a life of its own, I laughed it away, thinking how silly I was.
“There’s no chance in hell,” I told myself.
I wrote in my journal that day:
I think that there’s a 50% chance that she may have feelings for me. And there’s a 50% chance that I may just have feelings for her.
Even writing this down here seems horribly odd. I have a very strong feeling that I’d probably look back at this post one day, and think how weird having feelings for her is, or was.
And so, I thought, that was that.
Then something happened when I knew something had changed within me. For the first time, I felt a longing to be with her, just because. And I realised things were getting serious when I started feeling jealous that somebody else was spending more time with her.
These feelings were very subtle, but their mere existence itself made me worried. I knew from then on that I was in trouble, and the two words that kept on going through my mind were: oh f**k.