Page 50 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

Because that wasn’t what I meant. That wasn’t what I was asking for.

I wasn’t trying to end anything.

I was trying to understand it.

“Sorry,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

And just like that… I took it back. Not the question, but the right to ask it.

Victor shrugged it off, the tension dissolving as quickly as it appeared. The conversation moved on. Dinner continued.

But something in me didn’t. Because after that night, he pulled back.

Texts slowed down. The energy shifted. The certainty I thought I felt started to disappear.

For a week, I felt it. The distance and the silence and the possibility that I had asked for too much and ruined something that was on its way.

And that… that scared me the most.

I was scared of losing him.

Because I already loved him. I felt it deep in my bones. I loved Victor.

So I adjusted.

I became easier. Quieter. Less demanding.

I stopped asking questions I wasn’t sure he wanted to answer.

I stopped saying things that might make him pull away.

And with that version of me, things went back to how they used to be.

We were okay again.

I felt okay again. I even felt happy. But I didn’t feel secure. Because I knew then that one wrong question, one wrong move, one moment of honesty, could be enough to lose him.

I told myself I was being understanding, or patient, or chill. But truthfully, I was just afraid.

And that was why, two weeks later, I didn’t say anything.

The memory didn’t fade—it was interrupted by the sharp buzz of my phone against the table.

I blinked, pulling myself back into the present, the weight of everything I had just relived still sitting heavily in my chest. For a moment, I just stared at the screen before reaching for it.

A message…

From Francis.

Hey

I paused, my thumb hovering over his name longer than I expected. Because out of people I thought to reach out to me, Francis was the last.

I had never liked the idea of reopening things with my exes. It always felt like stepping into something unfinished, something that had already proved it didn’t work. It felt unnecessary. Risky, even.

But at the same time, I wanted to reply.

I couldn’t fully explain why.