Sometimes I wish attraction came with disclaimers. 

Warnings.

Or at least a manual that says,

“This one will confuse your entire spiritual foundation.”

Because if she were a boy,

I would’ve understood the whole situation immediately.

I would’ve just blamed it on good looks,

good vibes,

and the fact that my taste in men has always been slightly unserious.

But she wasn’t a boy.

She was a voice.

A voice that slipped through the cracks of my half-awake mind

and settled somewhere soft... 

somewhere I didn’t know was reachable.

Deep.

Warm.

Feminine,

like she reads novels at 2am without yawning.

And when I looked up and saw her?

God.

Her face matched her sound.

Not dramatic beauty,

Not “drop-dead gorgeous,”

but that slow, mesmerizing kind of pretty

that sneaks up on you

and rearranges your oxygen supply.

Like God carved her with intention,

and then hid her in my roommate’s social life

just to test my emotional Wi-Fi.

And I think I failed.

Or maybe I passed too well.

Because the moment she smiled,

my heart didn’t beat... 

it shifted.

It made room.

It rearranged something.

Then she glanced at me.

Once.

Twice.

Long enough for my brain to whisper,

“Oh. So we respond to this too?”

And I hated that.

And I loved that.

And I hated that I loved that.

I kept pretending to sleep,

but every time she laughed,

my chest did that stupid warm flutter.

The kind I usually reserve for masc people online

or fictional men with sharp jawlines and emotional damage.

She stood by my bedside,

close enough for me to memorize her silhouette.

I didn’t move.

But something inside me did.

Suddenly I wanted to know her laugh,

her playlists,

her favorite type of chaos,

and whether her voice sounds even better

up close.

Because if she were a boy,

I could explain it.

I could pray about it.

I could joke about it.

I could even daydream about it

without feeling like I’m breaking any spiritual laws.

But she wasn’t a boy.

She was a girl.

A very pretty girl

with a voice that felt like a soft hand on my neck.

and a smile that made me question

every label I’ve ever confidently carried.

So how do I tell my mind

to stop replaying a moment that lasted two seconds?

How do I tell my faith

that my heart glitched for a woman?

How do I tell myself

that attraction isn’t sin,

but confusion feels like punishment?

I don’t want a girl.

I don’t want to be with a girl.

I’m not built for that life.

But I wanted her,

in that moment,

in a way that didn’t ask for permission.

Maybe it wasn’t desire.

Maybe it was resonance.

Maybe it was energy recognizing energy.

Maybe it was softness calling to softness.

Or maybe 

just maybe 

God has a sense of humor.

All I know is this:

If she were a boy,

I wouldn’t be confused.

But she wasn’t.

So now I am.