The DM That Didn’t Die Quietly…

We never met. Not once. Not in passing. Not even by accident.The closest we ever came was a Facebook chat in 2017. I had slid in — nothing deep, nothing calculated. A quick “Hi.” Maybe one of those “Just checking in” lines that men drop when they don’t know what they want, but they know they don’t want silence either. I didn’t follow through. Life was noisy, and I let the conversation drown in it. She didn’t forget. Eight years later, I found her again. Different profile picture, same presence.I sent another message. And this time, she responded. But not with softness.With… evidence. Receipts. A tone that could slice glass. “Those are not conversations or checking up.”“Hi and you never said anything more.”“A friendship, not even being penpals, was never established.”“Like I said, nothing was established. It was you who slid in my DM; meaning you had a mission. You not establishing it is on you. Not me.” And I just sat there. Reading each message like scripture.Conviction in every word.No wiggle room. No misunderstanding. Just raw clarity and a steel wall behind it. She was right.I knew it.But that wasn’t what held me there. What held me was the fire in her words. Not the anger.It was how she wanted to be understood.How she refused to let another conversation start and vanish again. She wasn’t just responding to me.She was responding to every man who ever whispered and disappeared.Every ghost. Every excuse. Every “hi” that meant nothing.And I got caught in the crossfire. Maybe rightfully so. But still… I didn’t walk away. Because beneath that tone was a woman who wasn’t trying to be cold, she was trying not to waste time.And maybe I was the kind of man who used to waste it.But not anymore. She thinks I had a mission. I didn’t.But now I do.Not to conquer.Not to fix.Just to see.To be present long enough that she notices I didn’t vanish at least not this time. I’m not here for the chase.I’ve done that. Been that.This time, I’m just standing still… waiting to see if she’ll soften. Not out of pride. Not out of desperation.Just curiosity.A stubborn hope that maybe, beneath all that guarded strength, there’s a version of her that still wants to be met — not messaged. She hasn’t let her guard down.She might never.But I’m still here. Not knocking. Not forcing. Just… present. And if she never opens the door, that’s fine.I’ll know I showed up this time.Fully. Clearly. Consistently. - Sometimes the woman with the sharpest tone is the one who’s tired of being misunderstood. And sometimes, the finished man stays — not because he’s trying to win, but because this time, he’s finally ready.

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