When I met my partner, he was in a relationship.
I knew I was attracted to him from the moment I spotted him across a crowded dance floor. I was 21 and wanting to simply enjoy myself but I found no matter where my eyes traveled; they seemed to repeatedly land on his face.
He stood in a corner. He seemed suited to a corner, he was tall but he appeared shy and self conscious. Fueled by bourbon and an urge to no longer be strangers I walked over and introduced myself. The volume of the room forced his tall stature to stoop down to my level. I could almost feel the skin of his ear brush against my lips as I told him my name.
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He subtly mentioned that he had a girlfriend very early on in the conversation. As soon as he said those words I felt my body jerk back slightly, a reflex reaction. I stopped playing with my hair and adjusted my flirtatious gaze. I swiftly placed him in the “cannot go there” category and moved on.
Then we saw each other again. We rotated in the same circles. We knew the same people. It seemed like every corner I would look to, there he was.
The third time we bumped into each other we talked all night. We enjoyed each other’s company. It felt electric. Perhaps partly because he was forbidden fruit.
We agreed that neither of us found talking to new people easy and yet here we were. We exchanged numbers. I don’t remember who asked. But it felt like a simple extension of our conversation. Casual.
Did he hesitate? No. Did I? No.
He texted me that night that it was good to talk to me. I agreed. We texted again the next day comparing hangovers. Then it soon became everyday.
I began to look forward to his texts.
We exchanged jokes and grew to know each other through silly games and hypothetical questions. We confided in each other and he offered a sympathetic ear when I’d had a bad day.
We never spoke of his relationship. It was as if our friendship existed in a completely different realm. That the two of us just lived through these constant stream of texts.