16/10/2026
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ | ๐๐ฒ ๐ฆ๐๐ฎ๐๐ฒ๐ฑ ๐๐ผ๐ป๐ด ๐๐ป๐ผ๐๐ด๐ต ๐ณ๐ผ๐ฟ ๐ ๐ฒ ๐๐ผ ๐ฆ๐๐ผ๐ฝ ๐ฅ๐๐ป๐ป๐ถ๐ป๐ด
I have always been the kind of girl people eventually get tired of.
Not because I ask for too much, but because I rarely ask for anything at all. I keep my feelings to myself, pull away when things get too overwhelming, and convince myself that I am better off alone, even on days when all I really want is someone to stay.
People call girls like me "๐ฐ๐
๐พ๐ธ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฝ๐". They say we want love but run when someone gives it to us. They say we are confusing, emotionally unavailable, and incapable of commitment.
Sometimes, I wonder if they are right.
Maybe I have become so used to handling things alone that I no longer know how to let someone help me. Maybe I have spent so much time preparing myself for people to leave that I have forgotten how to make room for someone who wants to stay.
Then he came along.
He was not the kind of boy who demanded to know everything about me. He didn't force me to explain every silence or prove that I cared whenever I needed space. He simply made his presence known, quietly enough that I didn't feel the need to run from it.
At first, I didn't trust it.
I kept waiting for his patience to turn into frustration, for his sweet messages to become complaints, for him to finally tell me that I was too difficult to love.
So, whenever I caught myself getting comfortable with him, I would pull away. I would reply late even when I wanted to talk, act unbothered even when I missed him, and pretend I did not care because admitting that I did meant giving him the chance to hurt me.
One day, he asked me why I always seemed to pull away whenever things between us started feeling real.
I wanted to tell him that nothing was wrong. Instead, I finally admitted something I had spent so long hiding.
โ๐ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ฏ'๐ต ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ต ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐จ๐ฆ๐ต ๐ค๐ญ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฌ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ข๐ฃ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ด ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ.โ
For a moment, I regretted saying it. I thought he would see me differently, perhaps even decide that I was not worth the effort.
But he did not call me complicated. He did not promise that he would never hurt me, either.
He simply said, โ๐ ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ฏ'๐ต ๐ฉ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ง๐ช๐จ๐ถ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐บ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต ๐ต๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต. ๐๐ถ๐ต ๐ช๐ง ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ด๐ฑ๐ข๐ค๐ฆ, ๐ต๐ฆ๐ญ๐ญ ๐ฎ๐ฆ. ๐๐ง ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ'๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ค๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ, ๐ต๐ฆ๐ญ๐ญ ๐ฎ๐ฆ. ๐ ๐ฎ๐ข๐บ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด๐ต๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐บ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ณ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต ๐ข๐ธ๐ข๐บ, ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ต ๐ ๐ธ๐ข๐ฏ๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฉ๐ข๐ฏ๐ค๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด๐ต๐ด๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ.โ
I didn't know what to say.
I was so used to people interpreting my silence as indifference that I never considered someone might actually want to hear what was behind it.
He was not perfect. There were days when my distance hurt him, too. He had feelings of his own, and I knew I could not keep expecting him to understand things I refused to explain.
So, slowly, I tried.
I began telling him when I needed time alone instead of disappearing without a word. I tried to say that I missed him, even when the words felt unfamiliar. And whenever I felt the urge to run, I started asking myself if I was truly unhappy or simply afraid of how much he had begun to matter to me.
I did not always get it right.
But for the first time, I wanted to try before my fear made the decision for me.
People often ask why someone would choose an avoidant girl when there are others who know how to love more openly. Why choose someone who struggles to express affection, who sometimes seems distant even when she cares?
I cannot speak for every girl like me. But I know I am not asking someone to love me without limits or tolerate every hurtful thing I do. I only wish people understood that struggling to receive love does not always mean we do not want it.
Sometimes, we are still learning that closeness does not have to mean losing ourselves.
He never made me feel like a broken thing he needed to repair. He treated me like a person who was still learning, and perhaps that was what made me want to stay.
I used to think that if someone truly loved me, they would understand every silence and recognize every feeling I could not express. Now, I am learning that love is not mind-reading. Sometimes, it means finding the courage to explain yourself, even when you are afraid of being misunderstood.
And sometimes, it means allowing someone to meet you halfway when your first instinct is to walk away.
I still do not know what the future holds for us. I cannot promise that I will never be afraid again, or that loving me will always be easy.
But I no longer want to measure love by how long someone can chase me.
I want to learn how to meet someone who is reaching for me.
๐ฑ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ข ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ข ๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐ ๐ธ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ธ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ข ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ข.
And if I ever become brave enough to love him the way I have always wanted to be loved, I hope he knows that it will not be because he saved me.
It will be because, somewhere along the way, he helped me understand that I was never a lost cause to begin with.
I was just a girl who had mistaken being alone for being safe.
And for the first time in a long time, I want to believe that staying does not always have to end in goodbye.
_____
literary contributor ๐๐ชรฑ๐ข ๐๐ฐ๐บ๐ฏ๐ข๐บ | illustration by ๐๐ช๐ฆ๐ง๐ฆ๐ณ ๐๐ท๐ข๐ฏ ๐๐ฆ๐ค๐ฐ | graphics by ๐๐ ๐๐ฆ๐ฆ ๐๐ญ๐ช๐ฏ
