I was in the shower, my shuffled playlist blasting from my phone, finally able to dance again now that my back had fully healed. The last music that played was a Chinese song called "A Little Sweet", and so adrift was my mind in daydreams that recognition didn't strike immediately—it was that song. The one I had once rewritten in English and dedicated to Johannes...
Its melody—an upbeat, light-hearted, cute, romantic sound—is the kind I could imagine playing in the background when a girl is so blissfully in love, giggling to herself and burying her face in a pillow at the thought of her sweetheart, or after a fleeting interaction with him.
I'd told Johannes to listen to my version when he's at his lowest, to hopefully cheer him up. My eyes used to sting with tears when I'd hear that familiar tune, reminded of the happy times, and how all of it was gone..
However, tonight, for some reason, the song didn't give me dramatic nostalgia as it used to. When I stepped out of the shower, I’d already forgotten it had been playing—so much so, I didn’t even realise the coincidence when I saw a message on my phone.
From the bastard himself.
"How are you, Bliss?"
I was surprised, but the surprise I felt wasn’t... surprisingly thunderous. No panic. No hammering on my chest. No trembling fingers.
How am I...
How am I???
FUCK HIM.
Ten months of silence and suddenly—this?
I always see him online on Discord. That stupid green dot. Usually marked with an automatic status that says he's playing Slay the Spire, or something that sounds like League of Diamonds 2 (not sure, but it has League in it). However, for the past few days, he'd gone grey. Offline. I mean, of course, he could’ve just easily hidden his online activity (like I have done to my own), but maybe the sudden change is because he’s going through something? Like how people remove their profile pictures or deactivate their social media.
Well, if he is going through something, good. Let him. I don’t care. If he’s suffering, he damn well deserves it.
I'm not really certain whether to respond to him. And yeah, I still have him on my chat list because, even with all my resentment, I still can't completely let him go... I did unfriend him though, ten months ago, and even blocked him, which I immediately regretted... So I unblocked him, like a fool circling back to a locked door, hoping something had changed on the other side.
When I opened his message, the last thing I said to him hovered above it like a curse.
"I wish... when you fall in love, she will hurt you as much as you hurt me."
August 10th, 2024.
5:49am.
His reply, a single sad emoji "😔", almost made me feel bad...
Almost.
I hope the curse took root.
Another reason I'm reluctant to speak to him again is because... nothing’s really changed in my life. He’s out there finally living in his own apartment, taking his PhD, his life filled with grocery bills and study notes and probably someone else’s laughter in the other room.. And me? I’m still—still this. Ashes. Cinderella by the fireplace long after midnight, soot-smudged and stunned, wondering if she dreamed the ball entirely...
I am exactly where he left me.
And it makes me feel like a loser. A leftover.
But it’s funny how he suddenly showed up. Because I actually like somebody right now... That’s probably why his message didn’t have that much effect on me anymore. Had I been starved of affection still, I would’ve cried seeing him reappear ..
However, this somebody and I—even though we have so many things in common, and in so many ways are a great match—the conversation we had the previous night made it clear that we have no future. One would say it is rather silly to think of the future in the short amount of time we've been acting like lovebirds, and I absolutely agree. But I’ve had a taste of security once, and now I find myself chasing that feeling.
"It’s sad that we have no future together..." I solemnly admitted to him. "But it’s fine. We can still mess around."
We both laughed.
To be honest, I appreciate his honesty. He told me straight up what he wanted. No illusions. No false hope. If Johannes had done the same, I wouldn’t have wasted a year loving him, believing he was “the one.”
So despite all the dreamy Japan plans this guy and I had drawn in the air like children playing make-believe, I knew it wouldn’t last—assuming it even became real in the first place. I wished I could be the perfect girl for him, but despite our connection and all our similarities, at the end of the day, we still want different things. So part of me, some pale-hearted part, thought: Maybe I’ll go back to Johannes after that. After this burns out.
Maybe I could learn to make peace with a man who once offered me a future, and didn’t mind if I were just a housewife. Because in that, among many things, we are compatible. He’s a provider, whilst I’m a homemaker.
That's how I thought of Johannes after. And the next night, at the very present, he messaged me... Was the universe listening to me after all?
But that future has long since shattered. I can see the broken glass, scattered across years. There is no putting it back together.
And with that, I’ve returned to my default mentality: I don’t think I’ll live long enough to get married.
So why do I even think and worry about these things?
Update: BAHAHA. He deleted the message. But hey—at least he let it sit for two hours. When I messaged him almost two months ago on Chace’s birthday, driven by a sudden urge, I only let my message breathe for fifteen minutes before I removed it—mortified that he might’ve seen it and chosen not to reply.