The Shape of Hunger

I did not eat him. Not in the way you mean.

When she says she loved him, people think they understand what that sounds like devotion, jealousy, heartbreak. Something ordinary. Something survivable.

But she arrived too late to be his first version of love, and too early to accept she would never be the last.

There were women before her. Rooms she was never in. Photographs she was never meant to see. And in every fragment of his past, she began to recognise pieces of him she could not bear to leave outside her reach.

They will call her obsessive. They will call her dangerous. They will try to turn her into a story that makes sense from a distance.

But she is not asking to be understood.

She is asking you to admit what it feels like to want someone so completely that their past starts to feel like theft.

And if you still think you know what happened to him...

You have not been listening carefully enough.