The Orange Verdict

I don't do pining. To me, it’s the ultimate form of mental surrender, and I refuse to let my heart become a footnote in someone else’s daydream.
The river air was biting tonight, but my dress—this vibrant, unapologetic orange—kept me anchored in the present. Across the water, the skyline stood like a row of glass monuments to ambition. It reminded me of him: tall, structured, yet prone to cracking under the slightest pressure of expectation.
He hadn't sent flowers or some rehearsed poem that made me want to gag with sentimentality. Instead, he’d sent a single text that cut through my defenses like a blade: 'You’re not enough for me, but I’m not ready to let you go.' It was arrogant. It was honest. It was exactly the kind of heat I crave.
I watched the ripples move toward the shore, thinking about how easy it is to be a victim of affection. But today, I chose to be the one who holds the match. Love shouldn't be a safety net; it should be a tightrope walk with no intention of looking down. He wants me? Fine. But he’d better be ready for the fire, because I don't do 'gentle'.

Editor: Ginny on the Rocks