Chapter 6: His Apartment? My 13th Reason

So after the whole Rishi incident—which, let's be honest, should've been enough for anyone to get their act together—Ryan finally decided to behave like a normal human being and asked me if I'd visit him next weekend. And obviously, I said yes, because even though he's a mess, the possessiveness was kinda cute in a toxic, "bare minimum is enough" way.

Anyway, it was going to be my first time at his place. He sends me a landmark near his apartment and tells me to wait there till he comes to pick me up. I assumed the way to his building must be super complicated or something—that's why he wanted to come get me himself. So I stood near this random restaurant and waited… and waited… and WAITED. A whole hour passed. I was on the phone with a friend just to kill time and avoid dying of boredom.

Then suddenly, finally, he shows up. I didn't even recognize him at first—he looked exhausted, like he'd just sprinted across the city, and I genuinely got scared for a second when he waved at me. Like, who is this stranger creeping up on me? And guess what? To make things so much worse, it turns out I had been standing literally right outside his apartment the entire time and this genius had the audacity to not just let me in because apparently, his friend was already there, but noooo, why would he do the smart thing when he could make me feel like a sad extra in my own story?

And now you're probably thinking I gave him hell for it, right? Wrong. My brain just shut down the moment I saw him. I had a huge crush on this clown and was just happy we finally met in person, which, in hindsight, is so embarrassing it physically hurts.

Then I entered his apartment and oh my God… you could just smell the bachelor in the air. It was like someone had thrown a party, passed out, and never woke up to clean up the mess. I mean, it wasn't just messy—it was apocalyptic. It was filthy. Like, not "I live alone and forgot to do the dishes" filthy, but "we partied for three weeks straight and the house has PTSD" filthy. I walk into his bedroom (because no, of course, he doesn't ask me to sit in the living room like a normal host, we go straight to the bedroom, red flag number 478) and I immediately wanted to evaporate into the floor. And, he immediately blamed his roommate. And his "friend who just came from his hometown." Like… okay? But you live here too, Ryan. It's your name on the door, your bed I'm reluctantly sitting on, and your responsibility to not have your home look this level of unorganised. Especially if you're inviting someone over. A guest. Me. His friend shows up, all chirpy and friendly, acting like we've been besties since 2014, and honestly? I liked his energy. At least he wasn't trying to suffocate me with awkward silence. 

Now here comes the performance: Ryan starts listing reasons why he was late, and I was just nodding and smiling like a fool, not even listening, because I was too busy being happy and mildly delusional. He kept asking if I was mad, and when I said no, he goes, "You'll probably send me a long paragraph later." Like, babe, stop projecting. I didn't.

Then he kisses my forehead and asks for permission to kiss me—like, can you give me a second to sit down and breathe first? I just sat down and we haven't even discussed what this smell in your room is. And okay, I was nervous, because it was gonna be my first proper kiss and he could see it all over my face, so he stops and backs off, which okay, I appreciate, but don't get it twisted—he was pissed about it.

Anyway, fast forward a bit, I told him I just needed some time to breathe (literally and emotionally), and then I—ME, the moment, the icon—made the move, kissed him, and let me tell you, the kiss was good (like, dangerously good). He hugged me, we kissed more, tried different types. Things escalated, as they do when you kiss someone like you're in a rom-com and forget it's actually a horror movie, and I asked for a hickey in a spot no one could see, and where does this genius go? My chest. Like sir, are you trying to get me disowned?

Nothing more happened, but I was super turned on—and then of course, he gets a call from one of his filmmaker friends. I should've just picked up and said he was busy, but no, I let him answer. His friend says something, and now suddenly Ryan has to leave. So now he has to LEAVE and I'm just sitting there, radiating frustration and arousal, and his friend's girlfriend shows up and SHE looks uncomfortable and I look uncomfortable and everyone looks like they want to leave. Finally, Ryan walks me out, and the friend goes, "You're not coming back till evening, right?" And when Ryan says yes, the guy just slams the door in our faces like he was waiting to kick us out. We stood there, silent. Iconic.

Then, while we're going down the stairs, this other guy is coming up, sees me, gets visibly shaken, and literally whispers to Ryan, "So that's why you've been taking so long." I was so flustered I wanted to disappear into the floor. Like bro at least wait for me to leave. I can hear all that. Anyway, my cab showed up, I got in and left, and Ryan's friend just stood there, staring at me till the car drove off. Like… what are you staring at, sir? Reflect on your behavior.

And THEN, plot twist, I later find out this same guy—the one who saw me on the stairs—used to follow my friend around our college campus and send her the creepiest replies to her stories. So, yeah… what a fabulous circle of men I've found myself in. Stunning. Love that for me.