The mutual ghost is one of those rare but sacred motions that can feel like such a relief.
One of my best friends from high school mentioned she had a friend that I would really click with. She did her part to warm it up, and sent me the girl’s number to complete the alley-oop.
We had great banter in the week leading up to our date. I mean the texts were flowing—it was flirty, it was light, it was effortless. We had the right mix of dialogue. Sprinkling in the full range: getting to know one another, photo updates of our lives, deeper convos on spirituality and politics, etc. I gradually found myself smiling every time I saw her name pop up on my phone. I was counting down the days. She followed me on IG and liked a few of my pics, I followed her back and liked my own favorites of hers. That’s when the day dreaming started. The day before our date I called her out of the blue late at night to confirm and we ended up talking for over an hour. I could hear the wedding bells.
I pulled up to pick her up and stood leaning against my car waiting for her to come out. I tapped my foot against the curb and kept checking my hair in the side mirror. She came out and smiled, a big smile. She looked even better in person. I hugged her and she told me I smelled great. We were electric on the whole ride to the botanical garden, sharing lil stories, spamming lil inside jokes, sitting in the happy tension. I kept sneaking glances over and she would giggle and ask me what I was looking at. She took over aux to show me some of her favorite songs and I I was hooked on her taste. She was a funny girl, and I found myself laughing endlessly.
Yet...as we walked around the garden and continued on to a restaurant after, something felt a little off. Nothing too obvious, nothing glaring. It was like one of those pop songs that checks every box—right notes, right hook, even a catchy chorus—but somehow, it never lands. When you hear it you tune in, you know the lyrics, you sing along—but you don’t find yourself playing it on your own. We were beyond the surface level but for some reason the next level of depth wasn’t there.
I could tell she felt it too. As the date went on the silences became longer. I’ve been on dates where there was much to glean from a silence—perhaps one was nervous because they really liked the other, and was overthinking it all. But this was the kind of silence that was truly nothing. It wasn’t anticipation, it was an emptiness. It’s as if we were missing some sort of gap, some sort of contrast, some sort of compatibility. We weren’t on a collision course or a gradual intersection—we were running parallel.
By the time we drove home I knew where it was heading. I got out of the car, gave her a kiss on the cheek and she thanked me for a nice date. I watched her walk off and open her door without so much as a look back.
After that we never texted one another again. I think we were grateful it didn’t become something forced. The silence was mutual, it was kind. I still couldn’t tell you where exactly it wrong but I did learn a lesson. I learned not to squeeze all the juice out before the first date. You need a little mystery left for the moment you meet. A spark can start in the digital but the real flame is best nurtured in person.
But hey—what’s for you is for you and will never miss you.