Im twenty-seven, and I met her at a time when I felt least prepared for someone like her. The encounter happened at a small eventa launch for a local magazine in Manchesterthat I attended almost by accident. A friend asked me to tag along because he needed help carrying boxes, and I had nothing better to do that evening. Besides, I could use a bit of extra cash, so I went.
She sat in the front row, jotting notes in a black notebook, her phone face-down and a cold cup of tea untouched beside her. She wasnt interested in socialising, but whenever she spoke, everyone listened. Later, I learned she was a writer, penning articles for a newspaper and a culture magazine. She was forty. At the time, I didnt know thatI just saw a confident, composed woman who never needed to raise her voice to be heard.
Once the event wrapped up, I went over, needing her signature for a receipt. She asked for my name, looked me straight in the eye and said, Do you always look like this, or is it just nerves? I burst out laughing, admitting I wasnt sure. She replied, I like people who dont pretend to be confident. And that was the start of things.
We began messaging each other. In the early days, she replied little while I wrote a lot. I asked simple questionswhat she did, where she lived, if shed studied at university. I told her the truth: I still lived with my parents, took any work I could find, barely scraped by, and was trying to get started. She never made me feel lesser, yet never peddled illusions. From the very beginning, it was clear:
Im not looking for a relationship. Just so you knowIm at a different stage in my life.
Yet, we kept seeing each other. Always at her flat: neat, quiet, packed with books. She had her own car, her own routine, her own world. I came by bus, sometimes feeling like I was stepping into a life that wasnt mine. She welcomed me calmly, with no rush or promises. Sometimes we cooked something simple; other times wed open a bottle of wine and play gentle music. We talked for hoursabout her work, her writing, about being tired of justifying her choices to others.
I never stayed overnight. She never saw me home. I had to be the one to suggest meeting at the weekend. Sometimes shed say yes; other times shed disappear for a few days due to deadlines, meetings, and trips. When she returned, she acted as if nothing had happenedno excuses, no lengthy explanations.
One evening, after wed spent time together, she sat on the edge of the bed and said,
Dont fall in love with me.
I didnt know what to say, so I just replied that I wasnt in love. We both knew it wasnt really true.
I wanted morenot necessarily promises, just a place in her life. She kept reminding me that our paths were different. That I was only beginning, and she had already built her life. That she didnt want to be an anchor, nor did she want me to use her as a shortcut.
I cant give you what you want, shed say.
And still, she invited me again.
Over time, I realised she was offering the only thing she was willing to give: occasional presence, deep conversations, spontaneous meetings. I accepted, feeling I had no right to ask for more. How could I talk about the future when I could barely support myself?
Each time I left her flat, Id walk a few streets before catching the bus. I felt both whole and emptygrateful to have spent time with her, yet hollow knowing I was just returning to my room at my parents house, back to my ordinary reality.
She never promised me anything. She never lied. Yet, it still hurt.
I still see herbut not as often as Id like. Sometimes, I catch myself hoping shell look at me differently one day. Or that Ill grow enough not to feel so small next to her. Or maybe Ill simply tire of settling for less.
But lately, being with her seems to make me sad more often than happy.
And I wonder why.
Perhaps the lesson is that, sometimes, the people who enter our lives teach us not what we want, but what we need to accept: that not everyone is meant to stay, and not every love story ends as we hope. Sometimes, the greatest thing we can learn is how to let go and move forwardno matter how bittersweet that feels.
