Her.

Part 1.

Her.

I remember the first time I met her.
Not because anything dramatic happened; it didn’t; but because she had that strange kind of presence you only recognize in hindsight.
The kind that sits quiet in a room but rearranges the gravity anyway.

We were at some gathering… a mutual friend’s celebration or something equally forgettable.
She wasn’t loud.
She wasn’t trying.

But people looked anyway.

And she would laugh, not often, not generously…but when she did, it made whoever caused it feel… chosen.
I wasn’t one of them.

We exchanged a few polite sentences, smiled like strangers pretending not to notice the tension of possibility, and then life moved on.


---

Months passed, maybe a year.
Enough time for the memory to become fuzzy around the edges, but not enough to erase that first impression.

And then one day I saw her again.

Not in a place the universe warns you about
no glowing sign, no swelling music, just… ordinary.
Unexpected.
Like seeing an eclipse while taking out the trash.

She looked at me like she almost remembered.
Then she did.

This time we talked more.
We added each other.
And suddenly, she was in my space; or I was in hers.
I still don’t know which.


---

We became… friends?

At least that’s what I called it.

Offline she was warm, sharp, hilarious without trying.
A kind of comfortable chaos.
She made people feel like the world was lighter at the edges.

But online…
She was different.

She never texted first.
Never initiated.
Never asked without purpose.

Unless it was about work, plans, or something specific…she didn’t reach.

I’d message, and eventually she’d reply;
not cold, not distant, just… economical.
Precise.
Measured.

Like she was letting me close, but only on a leash she controlled.

I didn’t mind.
At least, I told myself I didn’t.

Because when she was present; fully, carelessly herself; it felt rare.
And rare things are dangerous.
You can mistake them for precious.


---

Then one day
something shifted.

Maybe she grew fond of me.
Maybe she got bored.
Maybe I finally passed some silent test she’ll never admit existed.

But suddenly her tone changed.

Her replies came quicker.
Her jokes were softer.
Her guard slipped. Not all at once, but just enough that I saw the warmth she spends most of her life hiding behind sarcasm and timing.

And for the first time, I felt like she wasn't just allowing my presence
she was choosing it.

Not all the time.
Not every day.
But enough.

Enough to make me stay.

Enough to make me wonder whether we’re friends…

or whether I’m just one of the few who managed to make it past her walls before she noticed.


---

Because here’s the truth:

She doesn’t just let people in.
She watches.
She evaluates.
She retreats.
And only when someone proves they won’t misread her silence, her distance, her complexity
only then does she loosen the lock.

So maybe I’m closer than I was.
Maybe I’ll never get all the way in.

But she let me in a little.

And with someone like her…

even that feels like something rare.
Something earned.
Something I’m not sure I’ll ever forget.


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