Philip and I used to go to the same school, and after we got there, in our second year, we ran into each other on the subway. We talked about various things, and I only found out that he had been playing soccer all this time and played for some small club with the prospect of working abroad. And I was studying chemistry.
There didn’t seem to be much in common, but it still turned out to be interesting. And soon he found me on Instagram and wrote me there. We communicated purely amicably, getting to know each other anew despite the fact that we had studied in the same class for many years. And then it somehow spilled over into a relationship.
My father was initially skeptical of Philip’s assurances that he was a soccer player, because he had never seen him anywhere, although he watches soccer. But when he got to know my boy better, he was absolutely delighted with him. Already at that point my dad was telling me not to miss out on such an amazing guy.
My mom also made it sound like I was a walking misfortune, and with Philip I just got really lucky. Although I was the one getting a college degree and a job at the university, and he was the one playing ball on the field. Even though I was my parents’ only daughter, they somehow belittled my virtues by praising Philip.
He didn’t really like hearing my parents clinging to him either, and because of their attitude, when he was doing well, had new contracts and more money, he began to think that I was dating him solely because of his work and money. My parents’ insistence and the pallid voice they used to talk to him led to Philip dumping me.
It was impossible to argue with him-he didn’t believe that I loved him. He ignores my calls, takes offense at my “calculating,” and he’s already out with new girls.
And yet we once planned to live together and even move to another country, if he was offered a job at a foreign club.
