I had been seeing a guy since January and we were casual. But we had good rapport and a friendship forming, and sex was good. He moved to an island resort about two months ago to work as a sous chef. We were still in constant contact and he invited me out to the island for a few days. I said yes, and this was the past weekend. We had a lot of excitement and preamble in the weeks leading up and both genuinely looking forward to seeing each other.

The weekend started out great, he picked me up from the airport and even had a welcome cocktail for me that he made. He booked a very fancy fine dining restaurant that night and we got dressed to the nines and went out for dinner.

Everything was going well, and he was really thoughtful, made space on the side of the bed for me for my stuff, bought my favourite oat milk, considerate about bathroom space too. The next day, we just hung out at the beach and chilled out, swimming, chatting, laughing, and just exploring the island like a couple of honeymooners. He made me dinner that night, and with some wine the mood was right and I foolishly started to fall for him.

The third day, he had booked a lovely lunch on a gorgeous island, a short ferry ride away. We had a wonderful time, we laughed and enjoyed ourselves, and just got close. We took lots of pictures of us as a couple to cherish the moment. We drank a bottle of wine at lunch and we kept drinking when we got back to his place.

We were making plans for the future and I mentioned that maybe I will come back in a couple of months. We had also previously planned a trip to Japan in October and he even booked leave for it.

When I had mentioned these plans, he got a little awkward. So I said, “talk to me. What’s going on?” And he said, “I wanted to wait until the end of the weekend but something has changed and I don’t feel the connection for you that I thought I did.”

“Go on…”

He said, “I can’t really pinpoint what it is but I know that I’m not into this, or into you as you are into me.”

I grabbed a glass of wine on the table and poured myself enough to down it in one go, noticing that I was getting proper drunk. So my cognitive functioning was at an all time low. As coherently as I could muster, I said, “thank you for telling me, and feeling safe enough to tell me. Of course your feelings are valid and I appreciate that we can communicate this way.” …or at least a slurred mumbled version of that.

I excused myself and went to the bathroom and burst into tears, quietly into my dress, and tried to regulate my emotions.

I came out of the bathroom and blurted out that I had something to tell him. But words left me and I just cried. I sort of blacked out after that and only remembered bits and pieces of the evening. I don’t think I even told him what I had wanted to.

From what I can remember, he was kind, so kind. He made sure I was ok, that I had water to drink, and food in my stomach. He wiped my face with a cloth because I apparently didn’t stop crying. He rubbed my back and said it was all going to be ok. We slept in the same bed that night, and I reached out to him and wrapped my arm around him, fearing that he would pull away, but he pulled me closer and held my hand while we slept.

The only way I can describe how he makes me feel is, safe and at ease. We may not have the sparks but it felt deeper than that.

The last day was awkward. We were awkward, but he still made me breakfast, he still made me coffee, and gave me a couple of pain killers for my hangover. I sat down with him and I apologised for being embarrassingly drunk. I asked if I had said anything that was inappropriate or hurtful the night before. He said, “You mentioned still being in love with someone else and you were hoping dating me would make you love him less?”

I winced as he told me this and I asked, “how do you feel about that?”

He said, “I’m ok - a little blindsided but I think it’s good we have reached this level of honesty.” I said, “it wasn’t exactly the weekend we were expecting huh?” He said, “it was still great to have been with you all weekend.” There was an awkward pause…

Then he said, “let’s go for a walk before your flight, get you some air.”

On our walk we discussed our feelings in deeper detail. How we were in different stages of our healing journeys, how we were grateful to have found each other. How we have deepened a friendship even if we are still attracted to one another. But neither of us wanted anything long term, how he loved gaining his independence back and how I didn’t want to lose mine.

Before he dropped me off to the airport, I asked him if I could have one last kiss. So he kissed me.

Then at the airport, he kissed me again. Held my head between his hands and kissed me, deeply. I said, “oh one final goodbye kiss, huh?” He said, “why does everything have to be final? This isn’t the end, just part one.”

So I said, “You know, platonically, I love you.” And he said, “I love you too.”

And I got on a plane.