Two days after our first date, I texted him. He hadn’t reached out, and I wanted to know where things stood. We had talked about meeting for a while before it finally happened. Now that we had, I was left wondering what he thought.
I started with an ordinary question: How was he? He asked how I was, too. Then I asked what I actually wanted to know—whether he saw me differently after meeting in person.
His answer was considerate, which somehow didn’t make it much easier to read. He was glad we’d finally met, he said. But after thinking about it for a few days, he didn’t feel the chemistry he’d hoped for. He apologized for saying so now and explained that he had wanted to be sure. He hadn’t wanted to lead me on.
There it was. A clear answer, with one detail my mind immediately caught on: the few days of thinking.
Had he known as soon as the date ended? Had he spent those two days trying to decide, or trying to find a kind way to say something he already knew? I couldn’t tell whether the delay meant he’d given us real consideration or whether that was simply how he softened a rejection.
I’m 33, and he’s 43. Neither of those numbers gave me any special ability to read between the lines of his text.
I thanked him for being honest. I said I appreciated him letting me know, that it had been nice meeting him, and that I wished him all the best. I meant it. I could be disappointed and still appreciate a direct answer.
He didn’t reply after that. There wasn’t an obvious question left for him to answer, although I still had one.
I cried. I know this is part of dating, but knowing that didn’t make this particular evening feel better. Our exchange ended with my good wishes. I was still stuck on those two days.
