He smelled like comfort. That was the first mistake.
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The kind of scent that makes your brain forget logic and your heart sign contracts it never read.
He’d say things that didn’t sit right, but the cologne said, “relax, he’s different.” And I did.
I relaxed too much.
I ignored the slow replies, the half-truths, the jokes that cut too deep but ended with a smile.
He’d joke about his “crazy ex” too often . I’m certain he was rehearsing a story.
He never asked real questions, only the kind that kept the spotlight on him.
He’d reply “you overthink too much” whenever I had a feeling that didn’t flatter him.
He’d say he doesn’t like drama but somehow lived inside one.
The type who keeps his phone face down all the time because of “privacy.”
The type who texts goodnight then stays online for two more hours.
Small and harmless things as they seemed.
There were red flags everywhere, waving like carnival banners, and I just stood there sniffing the air like, “hmm, sandalwood and amber.”
