Page 112 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

Not Victor.

Not myself.

I just let it sit.

Safe.

I tried to remember the last time I felt that.

Not excited. Not wanted. Not chosen in fleeting, overwhelming ways—but safe.

The kind that didn’t make you overthink every word.

The kind that didn’t leave you guessing when the night ended.

The kind that didn’t disappear the moment you started to believe in it.

And slowly, something uncomfortable settled in my chest. Not heartbreak. Not longing. But something quieter and clearer.

I had it before—I just didn’t realize that’s what it was called.

Safe.

I glanced at how steady Rick looked. How easy it was to sit across from him without trying to be anything other than myself.

No performance.

No second-guessing.

No waiting for the moment it would all suddenly change.

And it scared me a little, how unfamiliar that now felt. Like somehow along the way, I had learned to mistake chaos for connection.

I looked down at my drink, exhaling softly.

Maybe that’s why I stayed so long—because I forgot what safe was supposed to feel like.

Rick studied me for a second longer than usual.

“You look tired,” he said gently.

I let out a small breath, like I’d been caught doing something I didn’t realize was visible.

“I am,” I admitted—soul-deep. “It’s been a long night.”

He nodded, like he understood more than I said.

“Let me walk you home.”

I nodded with a shy smile.

The walk was quiet, but not awkward.

The city was still awake around us—distant laughter, the occasional pop of late fireworks, voices carrying through the night—but it all felt farther now.

We walked side by side, not too close, not too far. And for once, I didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.

We turned the corner, and my building came into view.