Chapter 3 – Mile 1: The Serial Situationship Sprinter

So here we were. A brave new world.

A digital love bazaar filled with possibility, delusion, and guys holding fish.

Back then, we didn’t have all the filters and editing tools we do today. No smoothing sliders. No AI-generated headshots. And definitely no FaceTune for personality.

It made picking photos easier, and I felt less insecure too, or at least less digitally disillusioned.

I picked a few photos, my best ones of course. A mix of cute but I hike, sexy but approachable, and yes I have friends, hobbies, and a social life.

I was doing this ironically, obviously.
But I still wanted to look like the kind of girl who didn’t need dating apps...
Even though I was on one.

I uploaded my pictures, filled out a bio trying to sound like I had both a sense of humour and emotional availability, and off I went.
Swiping.
Matching.
 

Hoping.
 

Pretending not to be hoping.

And honestly? Back then, people actually spoke to you on dating apps. You'd match and have a full conversation. Imagine that. Not always, but often enough that you remembered their names and didn’t refer to them as “the one with the dog” or “wine guy”.

And then I met him.

Ryan.

Gorgeous. Chiselled. Clearly allergic to carbs and very loyal to chest day.
Smart. Tech sales. Could plan a date.

He messaged first. Communicative. Charming. I didn’t even feel obliged to text the group chat my exact location in case he turned out to be a villain.

We met for a casual drink after work.
 

Five hours later, we were being ushered out of the bar, tipsy, laughing, and maybe in love. Or maybe just heavily infatuated and under the influence of almost a whole bottle of wine.
 

Then he kissed me.

And I was convinced he was my husband.

I got on the nightbus home, giddy and glowing.
 

Then it came.
‘Hope you got home safe. I had a great night.’

There it was. Proof. He felt it too.

What followed felt like a fairytale. After all the frogs, I thought maybe, just maybe, this one had legs.

Daily texting.
Good morning and good night like clockwork.
Inside jokes. Spotify playlists. Weekend plans.
He even said it.
 

“My family would love you.”

But he never introduced me to them. Or to his friends.
Meeting mine was off the table too.

Then the texts got shorter.
The plans became “I’ve got dinner already but let’s grab a quick drink after.”
Then it was just “Want to come over?”

I felt it changing. I knew it.
But I didn’t ask.
Because if I asked, I might lose it.
Or maybe, he would say what I had felt all along, with everyone, that I just wasn't good enough.

It was an emotional spin class.
All the work.
None of the progress.

And yet, I stayed.

Because the situationship is the sneakiest of all dating traps.
 

It convinces you that if you just hold out a little longer, they’ll get there.
 

Spoiler: they won’t.

But hey, I was new here.
Bright-eyed. Naive. Just looking for real love.

I mistook breadcrumbs for intimacy.
I mistook consistency for care.
I mistook replying quickly for readiness.

And then, Mile 10.

Gone.

No text. No “this isn’t working.”
No “it’s not you, it’s me.”
Just vanished.

And honestly, it broke me a little.
Ten months of almosts, inside jokes, playlists, weekends away.
And he couldn’t even say goodbye.

And don't worry he isn't dead, I checked. He is still posting on his Instagram stories.

Sometimes I still replay it in my head.
What did I do wrong?
What changed?
Was I too much?
Not enough?

But here’s the thing:

We weren't building something.

He was just passing the time and I was just a fad, a hobby, a passing phase.