Chapter Two: Dear Diary, I Was Supposed to Be Normal
436 Words
Dear Diary,
I don’t know when exactly things went from “this is just vibes” to “why do I know his sleep schedule and emotional patterns?” but here we are. Deep in it. Confused. Laughing. Spiraling—politely.
At this point, the mystery guy and I had developed a very unserious routine. We talked every day like a married couple in denial. Good morning texts with zero commitment. Late-night calls filled with laughter so loud I had to mute myself because I didn’t want my neighbors thinking I was unwell. We insulted each other for fun, flirted like it was a competitive sport, and then acted shocked when feelings tried to sneak in.
The chaos? Oh, it was thriving.
One minute we were arguing about something absolutely useless—like who replies slower or who started the conversation first—and the next minute we were laughing so hard we forgot why we were mad. I’d be dramatically announcing, “I’m done,” only to reply to his message seven seconds later. SEVEN. Seconds. I have no self-control and the universe knows it.
He had this evil talent of saying the most outrageous things with a straight face, just to watch me lose my composure. I’d pretend to be offended, roll my eyes, and then laugh anyway because, unfortunately… he’s funny. Annoyingly funny. The kind of fun that disarms your mid-attitude.
And let’s talk about the emotional whiplash.
He’d say something soft—too soft—like he was about to confess feelings, then immediately ruin the moment with a joke. I’d sit there staring at my phone like, “Was that… something? Or am I hallucinating?” Meanwhile, he’d act completely normal, as if he hadn’t just shaken my emotional table and walked away.
We were professionals at almost.
Almost serious.
Almost honest.
Almost defining whatever this was.
But instead of clarity, we chose laughter. Instead of boundaries, we chose vibes. Instead of talking about feelings, we made jokes so good they deserved awards. And somehow, that worked… until it didn’t. Because feelings don’t care about jokes. They show up anyway. Loud. Uninvited. Persistent.
Still, I couldn’t lie—I loved the madness. The unpredictability. The way he could turn a bad day into a comedy special. The way chaos felt lighter when it was shared. He wasn’t just the mystery guy anymore; he was my favorite plot twist.
Dear Diary, I suspect I am in danger.
Danger of catching real feelings.
Danger of falling for someone who laughs with me this much.
And the worst part?
I think I like it.
- Writer
