The thing about falling in love is that you never realize it’s happening until you’re already halfway down. With Ethan, I fell fast. And I fell hard.

He had this way of making me feel like I was the center of every room we walked into—like I wasn’t just his date, but his prize. We went everywhere those first few weeks—late-night cafés that played jazz through static-speckled speakers, pop-up bookstores tucked between towering apartment buildings, spontaneous road trips that ended with greasy fries and laughter under headlights.

Everyone told me how lucky I was. And for a while, I believed them.

But love isn’t always loud when it starts to shift.
Sometimes, it’s a silence.
A hesitation.
A feeling that lingers long after the moment ends.

Like the way his phone always buzzed face-down on the table, and how he never let it ring twice before silencing it. Or how, when I asked small questions—about his past, his family, his friends—he’d smile that same perfect smile and change the subject with a kiss. And kisses are beautiful. But they aren’t answers.

Still, I let the questions slide. Because when you’re in love, denial doesn’t wear red flags. It wears perfume. It dresses itself in roses and rooftop dates and the way he called me “baby” like he’d never said it to anyone else.

One night, after he’d left, I sat in my bedroom again—the same room where it all began. The fairy lights still twinkled above my headboard, but they felt dimmer somehow. Not broken. Just… tired.

I curled beneath my blanket and stared at the ceiling, wondering if it was just me. If I was being insecure. If maybe love always came with quiet questions you weren’t supposed to ask.

I wanted to believe in him.
I needed to believe in us.

Because what do you do when the thing you’ve been waiting for finally shows up—but it starts slipping through your fingers before you even know how to hold it?

That weekend, Ethan took me to one of those rooftop restaurants downtown—the kind where the menus didn’t have prices and everything glowed like candlelight had been bottled and poured over every surface.

The city shimmered below us, blurred in motion and golden haze. I wore a wine-colored dress he said he loved when I first tried it on, and he was in a black button-up that made him look almost too good to be real.

He reached for my hand across the table, his thumb brushing lightly over my skin like he was trying to memorize the shape of me.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” he said, voice low, eyes locked on mine. “With anyone.”

My heart did that fluttery thing it always did when he said the right words in the right way. But there was a pressure behind his gaze tonight—like he was trying to convince me and himself at the same time.

“I love you, Amber.”

It was the first time he’d said it.

I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him right. And then he smiled, slow and confident, like he knew the words had landed exactly where he meant them to.

I smiled back. Not because I didn’t feel something—I did—but because in that moment, I wanted it to be true so badly, I would’ve believed anything.

“I love you too,” I whispered, and he leaned across the table to kiss me, soft and sure.

The city didn’t stop. But I did.
I let myself fall a little deeper.

The next morning, I sat in a corner booth at a local brunch spot with Maya and Simone—my constants. The smell of coffee, cinnamon, and maple syrup swirled through the air while a Stevie Wonder song played faintly in the background.

Maya was stirring her matcha latte like it had personally offended her. “Okay. Spill. You’re glowing. You only look like that when either a man says something serious, or you just bought a new vibrator.”

Simone snorted into her mimosa. “Please let it be the man. I’m ready for that chapter.”

I blushed, wrapping my fingers around my mug.

“He told me he loves me.”

Both of them froze. Maya’s spoon hit the side of her cup with a clink. Simone leaned in like I’d just dropped a government secret.

“Hold up,” Maya said, eyes narrowing. “The Ethan told you he loves you? Like… love love?”

“Last night. Rooftop dinner. Literal skyline backdrop. It was like a movie.”

Simone squealed. “Girl! That’s huge!”

I nodded, smiling. But it was a small smile. The kind you wear when you’re not sure whether you’re celebrating or bracing for impact.

Maya leaned back, studying me. “And… how do you feel?”

“I feel…” I hesitated, searching for the right word. “Good. I think. He was sweet. It felt real.”

“But?” Simone asked gently, raising an eyebrow.

I sighed. “I don’t know. He says all the right things, but sometimes it feels like he’s reading from a script. Like… he knows what a perfect boyfriend is supposed to say, so he says it. And I want to believe him. I really do. But there are moments—little things—that just don’t add up.”

Maya nodded slowly. “Listen to that feeling. You don’t have to make it mean anything yet. But don’t ignore it.”

I looked out the window, watching people pass by with paper coffee cups and sleepy Sunday faces. A couple walked hand in hand, laughing about something only they understood.

I wanted that.
Not just the words. Not just the show.
But something true.

And deep down, I was starting to wonder if Ethan loved the idea of me more than the real thing.