Love Unhinged

Chapter Three: Dear Diary, This Is Not a Love Story (Yet)

Dear Diary,

At this point, I would like to formally report that my mystery man is a menace. A charming menace. A funny menace. But a menace nonetheless.

Things officially entered their unserious era when we started acting like a couple while aggressively refusing to admit we were one. We had rules. Fake rules. Rules like “We don’t do jealousy”—which is hilarious, because the moment another woman breathed in his direction, I suddenly needed to reorganize my entire life. Calmly. Casually. With violence in my spirit.

One day, he disappeared for hours. HOURS. No warning. No explanation. Just vibes and audacity. I told myself I didn’t care. I even practiced my nonchalant reply in my head. When he finally texted, I responded with a very mature:

“Oh. You’re alive.”

He replied, “Wow. You missed me.”

Reader… I almost threw my phone.

And then there was the incident.

We were joking around, and he casually said, “You know you’d be a nightmare to argue with.”

Excuse me??

I asked for clarification. Respectfully. Loudly. He laughed—LAUGHED—and said, “See? Proving my point.” I spent the next 15 minutes arguing my way out of being called argumentative. The irony was completely lost on me.

Somehow, we argued like professionals. Not real arguments—more like competitive banter with emotional undertones. We’d fight over nonsense: who liked who first, who texted more, who was more dramatic (it was me, but that’s not the point). Every disagreement ended the same way: laughter, silence, and unresolved feelings politely shoved under the rug.

But the suspense? Oh, it was building.

One night, he almost said something serious. I could feel it. The tone changed. The jokes slowed down. My heart started acting brand new. Then—BAM—he ruined it by saying something completely ridiculous, like asking if I’d survive a zombie apocalypse. I stared at my phone in disbelief. Sir. I was emotionally available for exactly six seconds, and you chose zombies.

Still, he had this way of softening me when I least expected it. Random compliments. Quiet check-ins. Remembering things I’d mentioned once and forgotten myself. He’d do something sweet, then immediately follow it up with chaos just to keep me confused. Balance, apparently.

Dear Diary, the mess is undeniable. The sass is mutual. The feelings are real, even if we refuse to name them. And every time I swear I’m done, he makes me laugh again—and suddenly, I’m right back where I started.

Suspended. Smiling. Slightly irritated.

And very much in too deep.