text: I think it was the way you wrote so intensely that drew me to you in the first place. I had never seen someone focus so deeply on a school textbook before, furiously making notes, filling up line after line in your notebook. Most of my memories are a blur, but for some reason, that one in particular has always stuck with me. I remember you briefly looked up as I passed by, gave me your shy half-smile, and went back to work. That was the extent of our interactions in high school. &#x200B; Throughout those four years, we never had a single conversation. Not one word said to each other. &#x200B; And now, I know why. &#x200B; What are the chances that we both just happened to stumble across each other’s profiles in a city of millions, 7 years later? And that we both swiped right? When I saw your photo pop up, it struck me as incredibly odd that we had never said anything to each other back then. I don’t believe in fate, but this seemed like an opportunity to finally get to know you. &#x200B; The texts flowed back and forth, fast and furious. I saw a flash of your charming wit, subtly weaved into your words. I saw a glimpse into your life. And you seemed to take a genuine interest in mine, too. I wanted to learn more, so I asked to meet you for tea. &#x200B; As I turned the corner and walked up the steps to that cafe, you looked the same as I remembered, except for your hair, which was longer. But I could feel right away that something was wrong. You looked up with that nervous smile, inched your way towards the door, and waited for me to enter first. When the waitress asked you what table we wanted, you looked at me instead of answering. When I asked you if you had a preference, you just shook your head. When we finally sat down, you said, “I don’t think I have any questions left to ask you.” &#x200B; So I asked you some questions of my own. And you answered them, briefly, uncomfortably. After answering each one, you would look sip on your tea and gaze at me with those inquisitive eyes, as if you were waiting for a miracle to drop out of my mouth. Since you didn’t seem to want to talk, after a while, I tired to fill in the gaps of silence. But each time I spoke, you seemed to lose interest. Only in the moments of silence did you seem like you were interested. &#x200B; It took a while, but when I finally understood, it hit me like a brick. From the look on your face, you wanted to say more. To talk about your life, adventures, your hopes, dreams, fears, and everything in between. But you never did, and I still don’t understand why. The texts you so beautifully crafted didn’t make it into real life. I spoke with just a shell of you, the real one hidden behind your carefully constructed walls that never came down. We never made it past small talk. &#x200B; On the walk back, I began feeling like I was trapped with your shell, walking side by side with your body while your mind was far away. When we parted, I knew we would never see each other again. Your heart was always just out of reach. The next day, when you sent me that message, I felt a huge weight lifted off my chest. And then, I couldn’t help but chuckle. &#x200B; *You’re a really good guy, but I felt something was missing yesterday.* &#x200B; It sure was.