Forbidden Feelings

"Ke perisha🫢🚩"

That was the first message she sent.

Right after I poured my heart out. A confession wrapped in vulnerability, sent at the stroke of midnight, fingers trembling, screen glowing in the dark. I watched that "typing…" notification for three whole minutes, heart pounding like a funeral drum. Every second stretched into eternity.

And when her message finally came, it was that.

"Ke perisha🫢🚩"

Then a second one.

"I'm glad we are friends tho👌🏽"

Just that.

A whole story ended in two sentences.

I stared at her words, not knowing whether to laugh, cry, or scream. My heart had been foolish enough to expect something more. A maybe. A memory. A moment. Instead, I gave the coldest reply I could summon while shattered inside:

"Noted."

But then I looked at the message again.

That little red flag at the end.

🚩

Did she think I was a red flag?

Was my honesty — my rawness — too much?

Was it my confession?

Was it my kindness?

Was I a warning sign to her?

I started questioning myself. Deeply.

I treated her kindly. I never hurt her. I never crossed a line. I was nothing but genuine. Was it the way I looked? The way I spoke? Was it my race? My tone? My truth?

The poetry of pain whispered:

"Maybe being kind is a crime in this world of sharp smiles and soft lies."

And from that moment, my heart cracked in a place I didn't know could break.

Was this it?

The end of hope?

Was this what it meant to be friendzoned by the person you cared about most?

My heart wanted to fight. But my pride — the last thing I had left — told me to let go. I wanted to believe I didn't care anymore. But the silence that followed? It was louder than a scream.

I asked her what she meant by "Ke perisha." Maybe I just needed some clarity. Maybe my heart needed one last lifeline. But every time, she dodged the question like we were playing volleyball. Like my feelings were a game, and her replies just floated over the net.

I was left talking to ghosts.

So I told C.

And C just listened. Like always.

Then she said:

"It's kinda sad the shi you going through with her you know, but I'm glad you letting it out and hope she knows she's losing a good heart. Not just a good face."

That line hit me hard. Not because it made me feel better — but because it made me feel seen.

I stopped trying to get answers from K. I forced myself to talk to her like a friend, even though every word stung like salt in an open wound. I told myself I had to move on. That she was just another connection. A beautiful memory now turned into a lesson.

But then… she said something else. Something I can't mention. Something that left me shaken — a single line that felt like a dagger.

Suddenly, everything came back.

The way she smiled.

The way she liked everyone's statuses.

The way she was so nice to everyone.

Too nice.

And that's when I whispered to myself:

"Yes… I truly dislike nice girls."

Not because they're kind. But because their kindness isn't mine alone. Because what once felt special, now felt shared. The illusion shattered.

And from that whisper… came a memory.

A memory I buried.

A.

A name. A scar. A chapter I never meant to reopen.

Her smile was the first. Her kindness was the blueprint. A was the first nice girl… and K just brought the ghost of her back.

But that story… that heartbreak… is not for now.

After that night, I stopped texting K first.

She never texted back.

And I didn't care.

Or maybe I did… a little.

But every day since then, my heart has felt a little lighter.

A little freer.

Or was it?

I'm not sure if I'm healing or if I've just gone numb. But I know this:

I lived through it.

I made it through the friendzone.

But the shadows it left behind?

They still whisper.

One name, over and over again…

A.