There is certainty in not rushing

“I like you.” He finally managed to get the words out after a couple minutes of mulling it over. It felt like hours for two people as eloquent as us. “I know”, all I said in return. Because I do. His eyes beat him to that declaration.

That morning, during one of our phone calls that always last too long to allow a healthy sleep schedule, I asked him what he thought my red flag is. “You cut off people quickly,” he answered. And he’s right. Ask my closest friends, ask my family, they will tell you the same thing.

Apparently, almost four hours of talking left us with more to talk about. So there we were the following Sunday evening, leaning over our elbows, careful to maintain distance but clearly unable to leave space in our minds for anything other than what the other person had to say. The ambiance was nice- music both he and I like played in the background, the next table occupied by a toddler with long lashes and the most dazzling eyes. He returned my question then, “what do you think is my red flag?” This one I can answer without hesitation. “You’re too nice. It makes your intentions difficult to tell.”

I knew what my words did to people, but I didn’t expect the dark cloud that developed over his perpetually amused face. By this point, we have been talking for almost a month, and I mean truly talking- mapping out each other’s dreams and burdens, learning each other’s family dynamics and sentiments on friendships, exchanging playlists and excerpts of writing (no one but virtual strangers have been allowed near my essays before)- the whole nine-yards. Naturally, that made one month feel a whole lot longer.

In hindsight, the fact that he was visibly shaken by my response should not have come as a surprise. What those words didn’t say, but certainly left hanging above both of our heads (but mostly his), were questions of who we are to each other, of what we are doing, of where this is heading. We discuss everything but these things explicitly.

In a (failed) attempt to make things feel lighter, I told him it’s okay. Like I said, I keep my palms open both to receive and to let go. The face he made afterwards told me I only made things worse. But we have been honest and open to each other from the get-go. There was no need for him to worry and no need for me to sugarcoat this. I’ve always said I’m not one to develop feelings or attachment quickly. What do you call the polar opposite of wearing one’s heart on their sleeve? My detachment is a badge I wear with pride.

Every intelligent modern woman operates according to the same handbook- never, ever lay all your cards on the table, keep them guessing, don’t get too involved until you’re sure.

The very first time we had a proper conversation, S told me without any hint of embarrassment, “I’m just trying to get to know you.” And I don’t know if it’s the high of the evening, wearing a beautiful dress, surrounded by people eager to have a good time, but right then and there, I decided to allow him to.

Depending on how I feel about them, I have a bad habit of warping into exactly or exactly the opposite of what I think new people I meet would like. Charge that to years of having to conform, to shrink myself at times, to constantly rise up to certain standards. When I think about what he would like to see, I’m quite convinced S just likes seeing me be myself, face lit up talking about the things I love, and desperately failing at those I don’t (including keeping a straight face and not walking into things). All good and bad. It never feels as though he’s expecting anything from me, so I feel free to just exist around him. Unapologetic, honest, at maximum or below minimum capacity. I didn’t realize how important that is until now.

I like to think S is in that same safety bubble with me. Looking back at himself all flustered and tripping over his tongue, he explained, “I just felt like I had things I wanted to say but couldn’t get them out. But at the same time, thinking about it now, there hasn’t been anything I hadn’t already said to you yet.” And it’s true. Which isn’t to say we speak of things with forced conviction or finality. Sometimes the answer is “let’s see where it goes” or “that’s all I know for now” and that is enough. We’re both emotionally-regulated adults who are capable of being honest about what we know and what we don’t. I’ll give us that.

People have this erroneous idea that certainty can only come from things with blatant finality. Labels. Hard launches. Promising too much too soon. Even as someone who has made it her life mission to avoid complicated situations, I’m making a case against that.

When it comes to this thing with S, I’m often torn between a weird protectiveness over the sincerity of what we have, and thus wanting to keep it hidden from people’s prying eyes; and feeling so comfortable and confident about it in a way that makes my thoughts feel credible to share. So if anyone (I trust) asks about what I see when I look at him, I will tell them about his insane talent and how it genuinely puts me in awe. Then about his eyes, looking at me with the same interest and attention regardless if he’s across the room, walking by briefly, or sat right by my side. If my face has subtitles, his eyes give him away. That same night, I asked him if he ever worries about other people knowing how he feels or what he thinks about someone based on the way he looks at them (me). “I’m not exactly being subtle.” He admitted. I don’t think he cared. Somehow I found myself gazing right into his eyes too. They seem to have a life of their own. I joked that we should charge the bar staff a ticket fee for the romcom unfolding right before them.

Talking about the next few months, his imminent resignation to focus on preparing for what is arguably the most important exam of his life, I teased him not to worry- we may no longer be talking then. In all seriousness, he said he would like for us to (so would I, but I didn’t say that). One month is far too short to be sure about something, about someone. But I like to believe we’re heading in the right direction. Besides, whether it works out or not, I will think of S and the long hours we spend talking with a kind of fondness that only sincerity can bring about.

So my argument is this- honesty and sincerity. These are two things that will bring certainty and peace far simpler and easier than strategizing, demanding, or rushing into finality ever will. Sometimes, nothing is more comforting than knowing we have a choice to cross the bridge when we get there.

After all, there is no shortcut to learning things that only time is meant to teach. But that’s for another post.