I Care About You

A month and a half after I met you, you sent me these words:

“I care about you.”

I looked at the four words on my phone screen.

But I felt nothing.

No happiness.
No sadness.

Just nothing.

Because at that time, I didn't know whether I could trust what I was seeing.

From the moment we met, to privately messaging each other, to talking on the phone together almost every night, we had never actually met in person.

We lived in neighboring countries.

It wasn't that far.

I was always planning, trying to find the right time to go see you.

So before we met, we could only get to know each other through messages and phone calls.

I have always been pretty good at reading people.

And my instincts told me there was something not quite right about you.

But at that point, we weren't close enough for me to ask you directly.

Besides, I didn't know if you would tell me the truth.

So I didn't ask.

I just took my time getting to know you.

I was attracted to you, but I also took my time observing you.

Sometimes, I couldn't reach you during the day.

You said you hadn't seen my messages.

Sometimes, you would disappear for two or three days.

You said you needed some time for yourself.

I understood.

A few days later, you would come back.

You told me you hadn't deliberately ignored my messages. You just wanted to take some time to think about how to respond to me.

And I—

believed you.

Until one day, I found the evidence.

In a group chat with your friends, you said that on that particular day, you had been waiting for a certain man's message.

You had even been sitting by your phone, waiting.

And that day, I had messaged you too.

I believed you had seen it.

You had simply chosen to wait for his message.

Not mine.

Unfortunately, that man never replied to you.

So you came back to me.

You said:

“Sorry, I just saw your message.”

That was when I knew something had changed.

The red flag went up.

Two months later, I told you:

Maybe we should just leave things here.

We shouldn't keep talking privately anymore.

You panicked.

One message after another.

Apologies. Explanations. Waiting for my reply.

When I didn't respond, you started bringing up the past.

Then came the emotional manipulation.

Gaslighting.

A relentless stream of messages.

I had never seen you like that before.

So, for the first time, I felt sorry for you.

Later, I learned that feeling sorry for someone doesn't always mean you've made the right choice.

After that, it seemed like something happened every week.

Every time one of your dates didn't go well,

you came back to me.

I asked you:

“Why do you never tell me when you're dating someone?”

We talked on the phone almost every day.

But you only told me what you chose to tell me.

You knew I had confessed my feelings for you.

But it seemed like you simply enjoyed being wanted by a man.

Then you asked me:

“What are we?”

I said:

“Friends.”

Friends can share a lot with each other, can't they?

I had also told you, very seriously:

“You can just be honest with me and tell me you don't like me. I can accept that.”

But you never really told me.

Later, one day, you saw a photo of me being intimate with another woman.

You called me immediately.

You asked:

“Are you seeing someone?”

By then, we hadn't spoken for three weeks.

I just wanted to know—

what right did you have to ask me that?

The last time, you were the one who came back to me.

Because you were in a good mood that day.

Then you asked me to sponsor you.

I didn't say yes immediately.

I was just thinking.

And then you suddenly said:

“I care about you a lot, more than you think.”

I didn't answer.

Not because I didn't know what to say.

But because I was thinking.

You didn't seem to be able to accept waiting.

So the same script started again.

Emotional manipulation.

Bringing up the past.

Saying that I didn't want to sponsor you because I was jealous of you dating other men.

Then you said, never mind.

Forget about the sponsorship.

Pretend you never asked.

And I still didn't answer.

Because I really was just thinking.

That happened in the afternoon.

That evening, you called me.

I was out running an errand and didn't hear the phone.

I was going to call you back later.

But when I saw the message you sent afterward, I stopped.

You said:

We shouldn't contact each other privately anymore.

You said I was no different from the other men.

And then you disappeared.

The same person.

The same day.

That morning, you had said:

“I care about you a lot, more than you think.”

That evening, simply because I hadn't given you the answer you wanted within the time you expected,

you decided to end our private contact.

Later, I finally understood.

You could decide when to reply to my messages.

You could disappear for days because you needed time for yourself.

But when I needed time,

my silence became an offense against you.

You could wait.

I had to answer immediately.

You could choose.

I had to accept.

So that sentence—

“I care about you a lot, more than you think.”

in the end, never made me feel cared for.