How I met my Ex

A month

It's been a month since Adam and I started seeing each other, and every moment feels like a new adventure. Our weekly staycations have become something of a ritual. Once a week, we'd pack up and drive somewhere, just the two of us, escaping our routines to spend time together.

I remember those first few weeks vividly. Nearly every night, we stayed up late, talking about everything and nothing until 4 a.m., only parting reluctantly when exhaustion finally got the best of us. Time seemed to slip by, and before I knew it, a whole month had flown.

With Raya around the corner, Adam and I decided to go shopping for new outfits. Adam loved shopping—he had a knack for picking the perfect clothes, pairing colors effortlessly, and styling each piece with confidence. Meanwhile, I loved watching him, taking in the way he moved with ease and certainty. He'd pick out clothes for me to try, suggesting styles with a gentle, playful enthusiasm, never pushing but always encouraging me to experiment a bit. We'd end up in fits of laughter, modeling our chosen outfits for each other and striking ridiculous poses.

Adam had this natural charm; no matter what he tried on, everything looked effortlessly good on him. His tall, athletic build made every outfit seem like it was tailored just for him. When we walked hand-in-hand, I'd catch people stealing glances, and I couldn't blame them. He was stunning, and I couldn't help but feel lucky.

I tried not to let jealousy creep in. Insecurity had always been a shadow in my life, but Adam seemed to see right through it. He'd remind me to be proud of who I was, to see my own beauty beyond societal expectations. Growing up, I'd been taught that beauty looked a certain way, but with Adam's support, I was learning that beauty came in countless forms, each meaningful and worthy in its own right.

And so I thought, maybe this is what love looks like—finding someone who not only accepts you but lifts you up, reminding you of your worth. With Adam by my side, I felt a newfound confidence, as though I was finally embracing myself, insecurities and all. And for the first time, I felt that maybe, just maybe, I was enough exactly as I was.

Hanging out with Adam was always a highlight of my week, so I planned a special trip for us—one that held a lot of personal meaning to me. This place had always been my sanctuary, somewhere I went to clear my mind and escape when life felt too heavy. Thrilled to share it with him, I texted him, "Finally booked it! Can't wait for this weekend."

His reply came quickly: "Can't wait too!"

I squealed with excitement, the weekend suddenly feeling so close yet so far. Setting my phone aside, I focused on my assignment. It was worth 20 marks, and the pressure to get it right weighed heavily on me. Starting assignments was always tough—perfectionism had a way of creeping in, making me second-guess everything. But I brushed those thoughts away and kept going, determined not to let my nerves hold me back.

After a few hours, I took a break, picking up my phone with a small, hopeful flicker of anticipation. But there were no new messages from Adam. I told myself it was fine—he was probably just busy. I turned on the TV to distract myself, getting lost in the suspenseful episodes of From. Every cliffhanger drew me deeper, but even as I watched, a part of my mind kept drifting back to Adam.

By the time it was dark, I was starting to feel uneasy. Still no reply from him. I sent another message, "You okay? You're quiet, and I'm starting to freak out." I waited, my worry growing with each passing minute.

Just when I was about to give up hope, my phone rang. Adam S. flashed across the screen, and I answered immediately, my voice a mix of relief and concern. "Adam, is everything okay?"

He replied with a tired but reassuring tone. "Yeah, everything's fine. Just caught up with work. I'm heading home soon."

Relieved, I replied, "Okay. I love you." trying to keep my voice casual as we said goodbye and hung up. Although our conversation was cut short, I kept reassuring myself that everything was fine. Adam was mine, and there was no reason for doubt to creep in. I reminded myself of the way he'd looked at me the night he confessed, his words sincere, his gaze soft. There was a trust between us, and I wanted to hold onto it.