He had that look. They all had it, that unclean cleanliness.
He would pick out her favourite colours, hear about her big dreams. She was a girl with big dreams, he could tell.
“You up?” he’d schmooze at odd hours. It’s definitely lame code for “Can we hang out?” and a poor excuse for romance.
I’ve never been lucky at finding love online. A couple of what-ifs and near-misses and just-abouts defined my romantic rendezvous. But in my defence, I am still waiting out for Paschal Tokodi (Hey babe).
I kept telling myself I’d be fine.
And I was. I am.
He’d ask random facts about my family, mostly about my brother, whom he claimed had a ‘cute’ smile. In turn, he provided scanty information on a need-to-know basis.
I’m told my generation will be remembered for our callous commitments and rudimentary romances. We hook up. We sext. We swipe right.
The first stage is “hanging out.” These are the preliminaries where you get to know each other as friends, and sometimes kiss. (Side note: I don’t kiss my friends.)
Then comes the crucial “talking stage.” This is the knockout round — you’re not exclusive but you’re also not on the market to ‘hang-out’ with anyone else.
The final stage is ‘Taken’. No, not taken for granted. Or by surprise. It means “in a relationship” — like Instagram-official. Got it?
After exchanging occasional texts for a month, I received a message from him: “Hey so can I ask you something?”
I hesitated, thinking: “Is he defining the relationship already? That was quick.” Knock out stages, here I come. I’m killin’ it!
I replied with a cool, “yea what’s up?” Casual enough, I thought. Not too thirsty. Unassuming.
“I really like you alot. Don’t take this the wrong way, but… I’m gay. I only texted you to know more about your brother. Is he single?”
– Angela, 24. Epic Ridge.