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This guy was a book-boyfriend multi-trope masterpiece, and I didn’t know whether to laugh in disbelief or sigh dreamily.
His voice was the kind that makes you think about all your poor life choices and whispers, make more.
If I had a fictional boyfriend to celebrate my 29th with, here’s what he’d do: Materialise in a swirl of shadows and lean on my doorframe like, “I don’t usually celebrate things, but you matter.” Give me a meaningful gift, not just a candle or a book voucher. He’d hand over the shattered shard of the first soul he ever spared, now shaped into a necklace. “It reminded me of you,” he’d say, like that’s normal. Whisk me off on an adventure. Dinner? Cute. But how about a surprise portal, a cursed map, and his and her matching katanas named George and Mildred? “Wear boots,” he’d whisper ominously.
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Maya, you bring light to the weird. Hope this weird brings light to you.
Human-Friendly Version: Two shots of strong espresso. Rose syrup, dark chocolate drizzle, and a dash of edible silver shimmer (Optional but fabulous). Topped with cardamom-spiced milk foam and a single dried rose petal (Preferably not black, unless you’re committing to the drama). Optional latte art: still Count von Count, because standards must be maintained.
I’m a woman, not a carton of milk. I don’t fucking expire.
It didn’t help that my brain decided to run a complete PowerPoint presentation of my most unhinged self-doubts. Including, but not limited to: Am I boring? Do I radiate weak snack energy? What if I’m just a background character in everyone else’s story? Why didn’t I wear my cute jeans today?
But I’ve learned that generosity should never come at the cost of your peace.
can confirm that 97% of healing is just being heard by someone who doesn’t immediately suggest a gratitude journal.
She said my words made her feel less crazy, and hearing someone describe the ache of wanting space, peace, and being enough made her feel seen.
All my fictional crushes fall into two categories: Shadow Daddies - Tall, broody, and emotionally unavailable with a tragic past and a sword named Justice. They have sparkly blue murder eyes (shut up), probably command armies, and they say things like “I don’t deserve you,” while bleeding from a shoulder wound and staring into the abyss. Cinnamon Rolls - Sunshine personified. They’ll make you breakfast and compliment your socks. Emotionally intelligent, and (probably) smells like baked goods and hope. They would absolutely hold your hand during a panic attack and say, “We’ll get through it
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ShadowDaddyActual: You dropped a crayon sketch like it was a sword to the gut, and now I’m sitting in a war room wondering why my chest hurts. Also, if anyone so much as brushes your shoulder again, I will rain shadows upon them and write their sins in blood. CinnamonToastEmpath: I VOLUNTEER AS THE EMOTIONAL SUPPORT BOYFRIEND. Let me hold your hand and tell you your milk frothing is a sacred act of love. Also, I made muffins shaped like little hearts.
But nope, he was back, looking (if we’re being honest) as if he’d stepped out of the kind of romantasy that destroys your sleep schedule and ruins all real-life men for at least three to five business days.
I want that strength, stubborn hope, and the guilt-free ability to say, “This is mine. This is sacred. You don’t get to take it just because you’re used to having access.”
The truth is, I know I’m one of the lucky ones. Despite being under a constant barrage of scary stalker shit and still living with people who don’t always see me, I have options.
“Did you try the Phoenix thing again?” “You know about that?” He nodded. “I saw you practising last week through the window. You almost lit your apron on fire.” “Right,” I muttered, heat crawling up my neck. “Well, I’m refining it.” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s very dramatic.” “I’m dramatic,” I snapped because my fight-or-flirt reflex malfunctioned. “It’s called Phoenix Froth for a reason.”
😂😂😂
He studied it as if it were foreplay, then took a slow sip “Looks like rebirth,” he said, his voice all velvet and wickedness, “and tastes like sin.” I got the impression he wasn’t talking about the coffee, not when his sparkly blue murder eyes lingered like a caress. I cleared my throat. “Are you flirting with me or reviewing the drink?” “Can’t it be both?” My brain short-circuited. “I…uh…well, I mean, context matters?” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Here’s your context, Maya Rose Rivers. The drinks are good here, but that’s not why I keep coming back.”
“Do you always bring snacks to magical emergencies, or am I just special?” “You’re definitely special. I hear caffeine-fuelled chaos is your love language.” “That’s annoyingly accurate. What’s yours?” He smiled. “Showing up exactly when you think you’ve lost control. Some of us have good timing and decent taste in annotated reference material.” Wait. Wait, wait, wait. HE sent the annotated field guide? HE gave me the safety word?
Ahhhhhhh!!!!😳😻
CinnaSnuggz: I gasped out loud at “Make me one.” I was in a waiting room. A nurse checked on me. I just…I can’t live like this, Maya.
Samesies!!!
Here’s a player PSA: Women aren’t here to validate your mysterious brooding aesthetic. We’re not emotional vending machines that you hit with a smirk until a compliment or craving falls out. Try sincerity sometime. It won’t kill you.
