On the one after the one

Hello heartbreak, my old friend.

The great philosopher Taylor Swift once wrote, “So it’s gonna be forever or it’s gonna go down in flames”, and it’s a mantra I’ve been acutely aware of for the last four months. Because, reader, despite hearing all the harrowing testimonies of the modern dater, I began seeing someone after my Big Breakup in early 2023.

Early subscribers will recall that I started this Substack after the end of a serious relationship. For what felt like a long time, I was a mopey mess, writing about heartbreak coupled with year-long joblessness, marking the lowest point of my life so far. Although I didn’t intend to move on so swiftly (I know there’s a saying about adding a month for every year you were together before moving on), after some months, I somehow found someone new who made everything sing.

If you’ve read my previous bits, you’ll know I spent quite a lot of time in the U.S this year and my first foray into online dating was testing the waters with American guys. I wanted to flex old muscles and see if I could entertain the idea of flirting with someone new. As you may know, that didn’t end well when I matched with someone whose wedding celebration I unknowingly attended later. After leaving New York and returning home, I chose to delete my Hinge. I wasn’t looking to jump into a new relationship; I just wanted to explore what was out there and how it made me feel.

Just as I was about to delete it, a new match appeared. “Such a tease,” he wrote, responding to my claims of doing a convincing Bane from Batman impression. He enjoyed barbecue wings and Phil Collins, sharing seven fun facts about himself as an opener. He made me laugh. I was hooked. We spoke for three weeks, covering the basics and trying to outbanter each other. Then finally, he shared links to restaurants in Central London, asking me to choose one for dinner. I was so smitten I hadn’t considered acting unavailable and coy, agreeing to meet him that day. It was a balmy September evening and I went for a swim before our date, thinking about what I’d say to him, what I’d wear, whether he’d like me, in between strokes.

We slurped on laksa (a risky choice for a first date unless you’re prepared for soup stains), he complimented my Bangladesh necklace, and paid for dinner. I treated him to dessert. The next three months fell away in blissful fashion, walking around London, eating burgers, sending memes, voicenotes, making jokes (oh so many jokes), going to protests, playing Chess, buying matching T-shirts (yes, cute I know), and on my end, daydreams of a shared future.

Anyone who encountered me during this period recognised my euphoria. Some might have read a piece I penned for my talented friend and writer, Tahmina Begum, detailing the overwhelming feelings that accompany a crush. I wrote: “This crush reminds me of the elasticity of my heart. That even after it’s separated into several pieces, it can snap back together, contorted in a different way but whole nonetheless’. ”

Just as I was about to delete Hinge, a new match appeared. He enjoyed barbecue wings and Phil Collins, sharing seven fun facts about himself as an opener. He made me laugh. I was hooked.

Friends, colleagues, and acquaintances with whom I shared tales of our blossoming relationship rejoiced with me in the relatability of a new romance. They offered advice on conduct, establishing boundaries, avoiding pitfalls, and shared in my enthusiasm. Crushes are truly for the gorls. We know how to commit to liking someone.

During the four months of our connection, I visited three countries. Despite time differences – eight hours behind in California and nine ahead in Tokyo – I woke up early and slept late just to talk to him. I re-read our Whatsapp conversations again and again, I listened to his voicenotes just to hear his voice, I starred the sweet and silly things he’d say.

I wish I could say he reciprocated my intensity. While he displayed sweetness and commitment early on, he unexpectedly messaged one Wednesday morning to end things, having been distant in the preceding weeks. He wasn’t generous with his time, energy, or resources. But I was.

My loved ones wonder why I invested so deeply in someone who reciprocated minimally, but I have no regrets. The affection I showed him was evidence of the love to be found within me. I think part of the reason I felt things so intensely was that when my big breakup happened, I didn’t know what to do with all the excess love I had. I didn’t want to put it down, so instead I channelled it onto a new person. This wasn’t a rebound; I was genuinely committed.

Whether a relationship lasts four years or four months, the pain is comparable, with the latter merely offering fewer memories. And I still have all this overflowing love, just without a recipient. Like the weepy background character in Mean Girls who doesn’t even go here, I have a lot of feelings lol. And while neither of these men were the one, I’m hopeful that one day I’ll write about a different one, but it’ll end differently.

I never did show him my Bane impression. After reading his first message to me, I joked in my head that it would be funny if the last thing I ever said to him was a Batman quote, because I’m a sucker for cyclical structure. Maybe that was the first indication there was to be an end. I guess it went down in flames, after all.

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Thank you for your support this year! I hope you’re enjoying the holidays with your loved ones.

Remember as you celebrate Christmas that if Jesus was born today, he would be born under rubble. Please pray for Palestinians who find themselves under rubble now. Also, mark the 13th of January on your calendar; we continue to march for the liberation of Palestine, Inshallah.