The Way She Moved

I want to try something different.A fictional short story.Short enough to read on the train.Heavy enough to stay with you all day.

The goal is to remind you about the little moments that punch you in the gut because they feel too real. It’s the "damn, I’ve been there" memories. It’s about heartbreak, missed chances, trust issues, late-night realizations, soft goodbyes, and hard truths.

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She was never mine.

Not really.

I think deep down, I knew that from the first night we met. The way she moved in the world, it was never in a straight line. It was in circles. Wide, slow, dangerous circles. Like she was always orbiting something else you couldn’t see.

She was beautiful. The kind of beauty that looked expensive even in cheap threads. The kind of beauty that made you explain yourself when she never asked a single question.

I never wanted a perfect relationship. I just wanted someone who tried as hard as I did.

But she didn’t move like that.

She moved like you should already know your place. Like effort was something she accepted, not something she returned.

She moved like you should be grateful to even stand near her light, even when she kept you in the shadows.

She would post something sad on Instagram at midnight, and then leave my "what's wrong?" text on read. She would tell me she wanted someone "real" but never asked me a single real question. She would flirt with other men right in front of me, and when I pointed it out, she would say I was "doing too much."

She wanted loyalty without intimacy. Commitment without connection.

I told her what hurt me before. What traumatized me. I gave her the manual. Somehow she still managed to play every wrong note like she had been studying the sheet music.

When you love someone, you make excuses. You squint hard enough to turn red flags into carnival lights.

But the truth is, she wasn’t a villain.

She was just another person trying not to drown, and she was willing to stand on my head to keep herself above water.

I hate giving up on people I have love for.

But I hate forcing shit even more.

There’s no dignity in begging someone to see you.

So one day, I just stopped trying. I let her seek whatever ghost she was chasing. I let her move the way she needed to move.

Not out of anger. Not out of spite. Just out of peace.

Nobody cares how you feel.

Until you make them feel how they made you feel.

But by then, you’re too exhausted to want the apology.

I never needed her to be perfect. I just needed her to meet me halfway.

If that was too much to ask, then we were never on the same road to begin with.

I don’t hate her. I don’t hate myself. I just hate that I stayed a little longer than I should have, waiting for something that was never coming.

HEAR ME OUT:

You cannot lose a woman who never chose you.

You cannot heal in a house where you have to constantly explain why you’re bleeding.

Love should feel like effort.

If you’re the only one reaching, you’re not in love.

You’re in labor.

Written by Ajani Brathwaite