It was a Sunday afternoon.  We were listening to Eenie Meenie when I suddenly said, "Yeah, I'm sorry for being indecisive."

You never directly called me that. But you rolled your eyes when I couldn't choose between ice cream flavors, or which restaurant to go to for dinner.

You didn't say no. Instead, you laughed and said, "There was this guy in high school. We always made fun of him because whenever someone asked, 'Which one do you want?' he'd answer, 'Which one do you want?'"

That day, I laughed with you.

But what you never saw was what happened inside me when you were around. How sometimes I paused before choosing a restaurant because I could already hear it: "It's not as good as the one I chose."

How I said, "Anything is fine," because I didn't want to see that subtle look of disapproval. How I started scanning your face before finishing a sentence. It wasn't that I didn't know what I wanted. It was that wanting something started to feel embarrassing.

I know, sometimes we say things without realizing their weight. Sometimes words don't come out right. Like when I asked how I was supposed to believe you'd really come see me and I didn't realize you just left your family earlier than you were supposed to. I snapped. I know I did. And it hurt me too. But there's something about being constantly misunderstood that makes you speak from a tired place.

And sometimes I told you, "I don't like to use my brain when you're around."

Maybe that sounded like pressure to you. Maybe you misunderstood it as I don't like to use my brain at all.

But for me, it meant peace.

It meant I wished being around you felt safe enough that all the outside noise would disappear. That I could rest. That I didn't have to calculate, anticipate or solve. 

But tell me,

who has been making the big decisions for us?

When you ditched me because you said you didn't have the capacity to handle our problems, who stood up for us?

I did.

When your legs hit every glass table in my house because you were emotional, whose brain was thinking for you and finding solutions?

It was mine.

With a cup of chamomile tea on your table too, if you remember.

I remember one day, you were surprised when you saw me cooking broccoli in your kitchen. "Oh, someone knows how to cook," you said. But you never asked about these hands that baked you the best brownie you've ever had. You just enjoyed it. 

You assumed I didn't know how to clean properly because you thought I grew up spoiled. You were shocked the first time I mentioned JavaScript. "Which AI told you that?" you joked. And I remember smiling, but thinking quietly:

Do you even know what my job is? Have you really paid attention? Or was it just my body you decided to pursue from the first day?

You seemed fascinated by me.

But not curious. 

Then came the passport jokes. 

The first time, you smiled and said, "Maybe you took it."

I laughed, because that's what you do when something feels strange but you don't want to make it heavy.

The second time, you said, "If you took it, you can give it back now." I still didn't respond much.

The third time, you told me that even if I hid it somewhere in my house, you wouldn't know where I kept it. That I must have my own dark spot to store it.

I remember being surprised. 

Not angry.

Just surprised.

Is that really how you saw me?

And one night, when I was praying, you asked what I prayed for. I don't share my prayers. They're private. So that night, I just told you I prayed for you to find your passport.

You looked at me and said, "Why would you pray for that? Aren't you supposed to be happy if I lost it? If I find it, it means I'm leaving."

That was the moment something inside me went quiet.

You thought I would rather trap you than trust you to stay. And suddenly, my hesitation made sense. That wasn't indecisiveness. That was self-protection.

Because how do you confidently choose around someone who subtly paints you as manipulative? How do you freely want when someone suggest your wanting is dangerous?

Outside of you, I am not that girl.

I live on survival mode almost every day. I've lived for years without backups. I know how to stand steady in my hardest day. I know how to live in one of the hardest country to live in. Yours, to be precise. And still, I found happiness inside it.

I know how to feed myself, you don't even have any idea how many people I have to carry. 

I am not fragile just because I am soft. 

I am not incompetent just because I don't perform my strength out loud.

And most importantly, I know how to love.

Properly.

Deeply.

Genuinely.

I know how to give warmth without making someone feel small.

I know how to care without keeping score.

I know how to choose someone without trying to control.

And if one day you tell them you were only treating me like a friend, then I would quietly say, I am not the crazy one. Maybe I don't know your definition of friendship, maybe you can call me conservative. But I am grateful I am old-fashioned enough not to do the things we did with someone I consider just a friend.

People ask me if I regret loving you the way I did.

I don't.

In any life, I would still treat you with the same tenderness. 

Because that is who I am.

But if I ever seem indecisive again, it won't be because I don't know what I want. 

It will be because I know exactly what I want, and I have learned to pause when someone has already decided who I am,

without ever asking.

February 26, 2026