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In Relationships 3 min read
The DM That Didn’t Die Quietly…
<p>We never met.</p><p><br/></p><p>Not once. Not in passing. Not even by accident.</p><p>The closest we ever came was a Facebook chat in 2017.</p><p><br/></p><p>I had slid in — nothing deep, nothing calculated. A quick “Hi.” Maybe one of those “Just checking in” lines that men drop when they don’t know what they want, but they know they don’t want silence either. I didn’t follow through. Life was noisy, and I let the conversation drown in it.</p><p><br/></p><p>She didn’t forget.<br/></p><p>Eight years later, I found her again. Different profile picture, same presence.</p><p>I sent another message. And this time, she responded.</p><p><br/></p><p>But not with softness.</p><p>With… evidence. Receipts. A tone that could slice glass.</p><p><br/></p><p>“Those are not conversations or checking up.”</p><p>“Hi and you never said anything more.”</p><p>“A friendship, not even being penpals, was never established.”</p><p>“Like I said,  nothing was established. It was you who slid in my DM; meaning you had a mission. You not establishing it is on you. Not me.”</p><p><br/></p><p>And I just sat there. Reading each message like scripture.</p><p>Conviction in every word.</p><p>No wiggle room. No misunderstanding. Just raw clarity and a steel wall behind it.</p><p><br/></p><p>She was right.</p><p>I knew it.</p><p>But that wasn’t what held me there.</p><p><br/></p><p>What held me was the fire in her words. Not the anger.</p><p>It was how she wanted to be understood.</p><p>How she refused to let another conversation start and vanish again.</p><p><br/></p><p>She wasn’t just responding to me.</p><p>She was responding to every man who ever whispered and disappeared.</p><p>Every ghost. Every excuse. Every “hi” that meant nothing.</p><p>And I got caught in the crossfire. Maybe rightfully so.</p><p><br/></p><p>But still… I didn’t walk away.</p><p><br/></p><p>Because beneath that tone was a woman who wasn’t trying to be cold, she was trying not to waste time.</p><p>And maybe I was the kind of man who used to waste it.</p><p>But not anymore.</p><p><br/></p><p>She thinks I had a mission. I didn’t.</p><p>But now I do.</p><p>Not to conquer.</p><p>Not to fix.</p><p>Just to see.</p><p>To be present long enough that she notices I didn’t vanish at least not this time.</p><p><br/></p><p>I’m not here for the chase.</p><p>I’ve done that. Been that.</p><p>This time, I’m just standing still… waiting to see if she’ll soften.</p><p><br/></p><p>Not out of pride. Not out of desperation.</p><p>Just curiosity.</p><p>A stubborn hope that maybe, beneath all that guarded strength, there’s a version of her that still wants to be met — not messaged.</p><p><br/></p><p>She hasn’t let her guard down.</p><p>She might never.</p><p>But I’m still here. Not knocking. Not forcing. Just… present.</p><p><br/></p><p>And if she never opens the door, that’s fine.</p><p>I’ll know I showed up this time.</p><p>Fully. Clearly. Consistently.</p><p><br/></p><p>-  Sometimes the woman with the sharpest tone is the one who’s tired of being misunderstood. And sometimes, the finished man stays — not because he’s trying to win, but because this time, he’s finally ready. </p>

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