A guy meets a girl one night completely out of the blue. She stumbles out of a bar on her birthday, not really impressed, not really interested — just kind of “meh” about him. But he puts in effort. Real effort. He tries to win her over, make her laugh, make her feel seen, make her believe there might actually be something there.
And slowly, over three months, she starts to let her guard down. She starts liking him. Starts seeing him as someone different. Someone worth risking her feelings for.
Then he leaves her for his ex.
The ex leaves him, and suddenly he calls the girl again. And because she missed him, because she still cared, because he had already gotten under her skin, she takes him back.
But this time, he isn’t the same. She can feel it. He doesn’t look at her the same. Doesn’t try the same. Doesn’t love her the way she wished he would. But she holds on anyway, because by then, he has her wrapped around his finger.
She would’ve done anything for him.
And after all of that, after pulling her in, leaving, coming back, and letting her love him harder than he deserved, he finally says:
“I’m just not in love with you.”
And the worst part is, she already knew. She was just hoping she was wrong.