UNEXPECTEDLY YOURS

THE THORN.

I always thought falling in love would be all rosy sweet moments, deep laughs, warm hugs, and late-night phone calls that end with sleepy goodbyes. And for a while, it was exactly that. But I didn’t realize that even the most beautiful roses came with thorns.

The first thorn pricked when we started having our first real issues.

It wasn’t even about something we did to each other at first. I heard something about him from someone else—something I should’ve known already. It wasn’t exactly scandalous, but it caught me off guard. I was pissed. Not necessarily because of what I heard, but because I had to hear it from someone else and not from him. It made me question how much I really knew about the person I was opening up to.

Still, that wasn’t the real fight.

The real tension began with his ex. Apparently, she didn’t like me which was odd and a bit confusing since I didn't do anything to her. I found out about things that had happened between them in the past. It didn’t sit well with me. At first, I brushed it off. I told myself it wasn’t my business; it was his past, not mine. But it sat in my chest like a stone, so I talked to Ria about it...so his ex weirdly came to stay around ria and I when we were talking about what happened so she went to tell him that we were talking about what happened between them and she didn't like it, I didn't know she told him about it so later that evening when I saw him we talked, and he asked me how my day went so I told him how it went and then he asked me why I omitted the part that I had an encounter with ex, I told him that I didn't omit it, I just didn't feel the need to talk about it because it wasn't a big deal to me.

He told me that she was pissed that we were talking about her, so I apologized to her...and I thought it ended there.

A few days later, he dropped a bomb on me.

He said we should break up.

I remember staring at my phone, thinking he had to be joking. I laughed..nervously..then paused when I realized he was dead serious.

His reason?

He said he had trust issues and that he didn’t think he could trust me. That’s all he gave me. This was because I felt like it wasn't necessary forme to talk about me seeing his ex the other day.

It felt like someone pulled the rug from beneath me. I was caught between being angry and feeling like maybe I had done something wrong. But the logical part of me—the part that knew my intentions were pure—felt insulted. If he couldn’t trust me, without me giving him a reason not to, then that was on him, not me.

So I replied simply: “Okay.”

I didn’t fight it. I didn’t beg. I didn’t plead. I just let it go.

And after I ended the chat, I deleted all our messages.

The pain hit me hours later. That heavy, quiet kind of hurt. The kind that keeps you up at night replaying every word, every touch, every smile. I missed him, but I hated that I missed him.

We went days without speaking.

No texts.

No accidental run-ins.

Just silence.

Then one evening, my phone buzzed.

“Can we talk?”

I stared at the message for a long time before replying:

“No, we can’t. There’s nothing to talk about.”

He tried again:

“Please just hear me out.”

I replied:

“I don’t want to hear what you have to say. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

His final text that night was just one word:

“Okay.”

But minutes later, my phone lit up again.

This time, it was different. He poured out his heart. He apologized. He said he let his insecurities and trust issues ruin what we had. That he messed up. That he missed me. That he wanted us back. That he needed us back.

I saw it. I read it. But I didn’t reply.

Later that week, my hostel threw a party. Ria and I got dressed up and went. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and the lights made everything feel dreamlike. We danced, laughed, and drank too much. Way too much.

I was drunk—floating somewhere between joy and numbness—when I accidentally bumped into someone on the dance floor.

It was Forty.

We hit each other and locked eyes. For a split second, time slowed. Then he gently pulled me aside.

I was wobbling, trying to stay steady on my feet, trying not to feel every emotion that started bubbling up inside me. Even though I had ignored him for days, the truth was I missed him deeply. And when I’m drunk, I don’t hide how I feel.

He wanted to talk. I said okay.

But first—I had to pee. Urgently. So we went to his room since it was the closest. I used his bathroom and then we stepped back outside.

And we didn’t talk.

Not with words.

We danced. We kissed. We melted into each other like we were trying to say all the things we hadn’t. In that moment, everything that hurt before didn’t matter. I just wanted to feel him close.

Eventually, we ended up in his room again. We started making out, but then he stopped.

He looked at me—serious but soft—and said,

“I want us to do this when you’re not drunk, so you can give full consent.”

That moment hit different. It made me respect him even more. So instead, we lay in bed, fully clothed, just holding each other.

The next morning, I woke up with a spinning head and a heavy heart. Everything felt weird in the light of day. I left early—without saying much.

Later, when the alcohol wore off and everything sank in, we finally had the conversation we were supposed to have weeks ago. I told him I needed space. I wasn’t sure if I could jump right back into what we had. I needed time to think, to breathe.

A few days later, we found our way back to each other again.

That was the biggest fight we ever had. The one that almost ended us. We had smaller arguments after that, like any couple does, but none ever cut as deep as that one.

Love isn’t just rosy.

It’s messy.

It’s hard.

It’s sometimes painful.

But it’s also worth it—when both hearts are trying.