Am I in Love? - by Ibn Abdullah 🦁

_"Am I in love again?"_ _Someone save me._ If there was one thing Marcus should have learned by now, it's that he should learn to stop asking questions whose answers he was not emotionally prepared to hear. But still, here he was, asking: _Am I in love?_ Well, let's examine the evidence. First, there was the talking, as was usually the case. A conversation that was supposed to be short, business-only, and to the point somehow stretched and became five hours long. Five. Not one. Not two. Not three. Not four. Five. Five hours. Nobody noticed. Not Marcus. Not her. Marcus still believes time was rage-baiting them. Then there was the laughter. Marcus found himself laughing far more than he expected to. And mind you, it wasn't the polite, socially acceptable kind of laughter. Nah, nah, nah, no. This was proper laughter. You know, that kind of laughter that makes someone wonder where the hours decided to run away to and why his face and stomach hurt so much. Then came the games, the poems, the singing, and the ridiculously over-the-top performances like professional actors auditioning like their lives depended on it. Best of all. There was completely unnecessary commitment to imaginary scenes. At some point, Marcus realized something absolutely terrifying. It wasn't just the activities he was enjoying. He was enjoying this person. Oh no. No, no, no. That's totally different. And naturally, Marcus did what any perfectly sensible individual would do. He began constructing a mythology around the whole thing. _Surely,_ he said, _this was merely the meeting of two exceptionally whimsical individuals._ _Surely this was just friendship._ _Surely a five-hour conversation did not necessarily mean anything._ Surely— Wait. He realized he was thinking about her again. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no. Marcus screamed. Was Marcus in love again? The question lingered. Well, perhaps, of course, the answer wasn't quite as dramatic as he feared. The thing is, maybe he wasn't in love. At least not yet. Maybe he was simply experiencing something far simpler and far less dangerous. He was smitten. He really, really liked her. He enjoyed her company. He really admired her personality, and he absolutely loved how easy it was for them to be ridiculous together. He loved the feeling of being around someone with whom he didn't have to force the fun. The fun came naturally. And somewhere along the way, this person had gotten under his skin. Like... deep under, almost wearing him like a coat. But that's the thing. That didn't necessarily mean love. Love was far more than just a handful of wonderful conversations. However wonderful those conversations might have been, there was still much to discover. So no. Marcus was not jumping to conclusions. He didn't have to declare that he was in love. There was no reason for him to panic. He did not have to run for his life. (Just yet) He simply had to admit the truth: He really, really liked her. He was absolutely smitten. Gbam! Gbammer! Gbammest! He was perhaps—maybe, just maybe—beginning to fall. And that was enough for now. Bruh. Someone save Marcus.

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