There was a woman whose love could not be won.
Or rather—could only be won by refusing it.
To love her was to lose her. To embrace her was to trigger her retreat. She was wired, somehow, like a puzzle designed by a cruel god: a catch-22 in heels and shadow, activated only by negation.
I met her in a garden, though that word does no justice. It was a garden the way dreams are gardens—lush, bright, a little dangerous. She moved through it like a rumor. Something in her gaze made you want to confess everything you’d ever hidden, and yet you sensed that if you did, you’d never see her again.
And I tried. God, did I try.
I gave her my heart wrapped in clarity. I looked her in the eyes and said: I see you. I choose you. I will never abandon you.
She blinked. Then tilted. Then evaporated.
Not all at once. No. Slowly. Like steam rising from a bath you meant to share. Words still passed between us, but now hollow. Her smiles—polite. Her body—present, but not here.
At first, I thought it was fear. Hers. That if I just loved her harder, she’d trust it. If I just proved myself more beautifully. If I just held her while she flinched. But the more I gave, the more she vanished. My fullness made her feel empty. My embrace made her flinch from the cage of tenderness.
Until finally, in exhaustion, I said:
“No.”
Not cruelly. Not loudly. Just firmly.
No, I won’t chase you into your own hiding place.
No, I won’t unravel myself to earn your flicker.
No, I won’t dilute my love to suit your absence.
And that—
That’s when she turned.
Eyes widened. Breath caught. Body softened. She stepped toward me like someone waking from a centuries-long spell.
“You’re different now,” she whispered.
“No,” I said. “I’m just no longer pretending to be less than I am.”
Her programming lit up like a Christmas tree.
She reached for me. Offered sweetness. Trust. Body. Eyes.
All the things I’d begged for.
But now, I knew the cost.
To accept it would be to lose it again.
To love her was to not love her.
To hold her was to turn her into mist.
And so I smiled, gently.
Stepped back.
And walked away,
carrying the paradox
she left behind.