why is he hot and cold

That’s how it always was. There were years when we talked on the phone every single night, back when we were teenagers, and later, in our early twenties. We both knew there was something more, but we never said it out loud. The calls went on for years, and then they just stopped.

After that, we saw each other only now and then. There were signs—kisses, messages, words, gestures. But every time we got closer, he would vanish. He wouldn’t answer, wouldn’t reply, just disappeared for a while. And then, just as suddenly, he’d reach out again, acting as if nothing had happened.

The pattern repeated so many times. I started to feel insecure, doubting whether he ever had feelings for me, even though those signs were there. It hurt, every time. I never got used to it.

After years of this, I finally started a relationship with someone else. I put real distance between us. It felt like the only way to stop getting hurt.

But early this year, we started texting again. This time, something changed. We both confessed that we had wanted a relationship for many years, that we really did have feelings for each other. We admitted we had been too afraid, each of us thinking the other didn’t want it.

A little while after that, he called me. When we met, he paid for things. He said he wanted to see me again soon.

And then, after that meeting, he disappeared again. Not completely—sometimes he replied, but it was different. When my birthday came, I sent him wishes. He didn’t respond. Not even a simple thank you.

I don’t understand it. He can be so quick to answer in emergencies, always there in a heartbeat if something serious is happening. But otherwise, he just goes silent, especially after we get close. I keep wondering why he does it.

What confuses me even more is how much it still bothers me. I have other friends who are bad at texting, but it doesn’t affect me like this. When he disappears, I start doubting myself all over again, questioning if I did something wrong, or if he ever really cared. I tell myself it shouldn’t matter, not after all these years, but it still does. I still don’t know why.

She caught my eye, gave me this huge smile, eyes bright, and said hello.

A couple weeks before that, we’d met at a party. Twenty-one, just out of her only relationship—four years, she’d told me. I’m twenty-three and not exactly experienced. At that party, things felt easy. She gave me those looks, touched my hand, all these signals that made me think she was into me.

Fast forward to Saturday. Me, my best friend, his brother, and his sister decided to eat at the Italian place Heather works at. She’s the hostess, so she seats us. I noticed her glancing at me from across the room twice. She said something to our waitress.

Heather came by our table a couple of times. She’s outgoing—at the party, she talked to me a lot. But in the restaurant, with everyone there, she only talked and made eye contact with the others. Not me. The only time she really looked at me or said anything was when we were alone.

I started wondering if I’d made her nervous, or if I creeped her out, or embarrassed her somehow. Maybe I shocked her? I couldn’t figure it out. My best friend’s sister was there—she said Heather was probably just intimidated talking to me in front of everyone, that’s why she focused on the others. My best friend thought it was just weird for Heather that we all showed up at her work and told me not to read too much into it.

I’m supposed to see Heather again at an art gallery my friend is hosting on Saturday. I don’t know whether I should try to move things forward or just back off. I’m worried about coming across as creepy.

He was in front of me, crying hard, his face red and wet. We had almost two years together, and I’d thought we were happy. I hadn’t seen any signs that anything was wrong.

He started talking about things that had been bothering him. It was the first time I’d ever heard about any of them. They were all so small—little insecurities, things he said he’d kept to himself because he was hoping they would just go away. He told me he’d been “fighting” for our relationship by not saying anything, just trying to handle it alone. But now, he said, it had all become too much.

By the time he told me, he had already decided. I was hearing all of this for the first time, but he was already leaving. He told me he needed to go, but then he promised he would come back after some time apart. He said we were just taking a break.

I held onto that. I thought maybe he really just needed space, that he would reach out, that this wasn’t the end.

But after that day, I never heard from him again. He just disappeared. No message. No call. Nothing.

I spent months waiting. Every time my phone buzzed, I hoped it would be him. I kept thinking about the breakup, trying to remember if I’d missed something, or if there was a moment when it could have been different. I questioned if I ever mattered to him at all.

It felt like being blindsided twice—first by the breakup, then by his silence after promising to come back.

Now it’s been several months, and I still haven’t gotten any answers. I started looking for support online, trying to understand what happened. Our relationship had felt loving and healthy. I gave everything I could. I don’t know why it ended this way, or if I’ll ever know.

“It’s so hard to leave.”

We’d spent the whole day together—one of those dates that just kept going, ending up back at my place. We’d been seeing each other a little over a month, and a week ago she’d brought up being exclusive, just the two of us. I agreed. Before that, I’d told her I didn’t want to rush into anything serious, and she said she was on the same page. But things kept deepening.

After sex, she’d get affectionate, snuggling close, saying how hard it was to go. She told me she talked about me a lot to her family, that her closest friend knew all about me. She wanted me to join her on a trip she was planning, and she’d bring up summer plans for us.

In those moments, it felt like we were moving toward something real.

But every time I tried to say something about how I felt, it was different. I’d text her after a date—“Had a good time, I miss you already.” She wouldn’t respond, or she’d steer the conversation somewhere else. Lying next to her, I’d say I liked her. She never really replied. I mentioned to her that I’d told a friend she was my girlfriend. She said, “I don’t really like labels.”

I know she got out of a long, bad relationship last October—three or four years, she told me. Maybe that’s part of it. I don’t know.

We keep seeing each other, two or three times a week now, making plans, spending time together. But I stay guarded, not saying everything I want to say.

I’d known him for five years, but everything felt new now. We talked every day, called each other, saw each other as much as we could. He treated me like his girlfriend—better, even, than anyone else ever had.

He would mention his family sometimes, say he wanted me to meet them. That made me feel included, like I belonged in his life.

But when I brought up the idea of being in a relationship, the words landed differently.

He told me he wasn’t looking for a relationship. He said it was because of a horrible breakup he’d had before. Still, we were exclusive. He never hid anything from me. I trusted him.

I asked him if it could ever become a relationship. He said yes, but also that he wanted to be super careful not to get hurt again.

After that, something changed for me. I started to feel insecure. I wondered if three months was too soon to talk about being in a relationship, or if waiting would just make things more confusing. I kept thinking about that conversation, replaying it. He acted like my boyfriend, but wouldn’t call me his girlfriend. He talked about introducing me to his family, but said he wasn’t looking for a relationship.

We still talked every day. We still saw each other as often as we could. But now, I was unsure. The security I’d felt before was replaced by questions I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know what to do next.

He was holding my hand for hours while we drove, his thumb tracing circles on my skin. It was one of those moments that felt simple, but I could feel something real in it. I’d met all his current friends and even his childhood friends. There were events—his birthday, his sister’s birthday—where I was his plus-one.

We took videos together and they ended up on his Instagram stories. I met his parents. We slept over at each other’s places at least once a week, always without having sex. Sometimes I’d wake to him giving me gentle kisses while I slept. The way he looked at me, the way he held onto my hand, it all felt like we were moving somewhere together.

We talked about our biggest vulnerabilities. He told me about his childhood, about past relationships, about trauma. I did the same. There was a kind of safety in those conversations that doesn’t usually come quickly.

He told me, early on, that he was still getting over his ex from a year ago, and that he was a bit nervous about dating again. But he said he wanted to try, because he didn’t meet someone like me all the time.

Then there was the talk. We decided we’d try a committed relationship. After all that, it felt like the next step.

Seven days later, everything changed. He got freaked out. He told me he wasn’t ready for a serious relationship after all. He said he thought he was, but turns out he wasn’t. He said he was confused and felt shitty about himself. He looked like he wanted to collapse, and he couldn’t stop holding onto me, like he didn’t want me to leave.

I told him we should take some time off and maybe circle back after the holidays if we wanted to keep a friendship. Then I left. We haven’t spoken since.

Now I keep replaying all of it in my head—the closeness, the things we shared, and then how abruptly it ended. I don’t know if it was really about me, or if it was something about his past, or the way he handles relationships. I keep wondering if it was some kind of shutdown response, or if he just realized he wasn’t ready, no matter who it was with.

For now, I’m planning to move on. I’m not desperate for a relationship, but if he reaches out after the holidays, maybe we can see if a friendship is possible. I see value in him, but I don’t want to waste time on someone who isn’t ready. I’m just waiting, not sure what happens next.

We’d met on a dating app and I went in thinking it would be just a one-night stand. I’d been fine with that, even had plans for the next day. But we hit it off so well I didn’t want to leave, so I stayed.

When he left, he barely texted. Messages got short, then infrequent. I kept it going anyway—chose to pursue it, even though I wasn’t sure why. Three months later, we were still seeing each other.

Sometimes he’d just stop talking to me. That’s when he admitted he gave me the silent treatment if he thought I was “acting up.”

The money stuff was strange, too. At first, he let me pay for everything, even his things. When I stopped, he made a comment about the “free meal ticket” having an expiration date.

The biggest blowup came when he was convinced I was sleeping with someone else. He said he had “evidence.” After that, I finally asked him, “What are we doing here?” I wanted to know what this was, what I was to him.

He said he wasn’t seeing anyone else, but wouldn’t define what we were. He only said he could see the potential for a commitment and that we seemed to be “headed in that direction.” It felt vague, like nothing had actually changed.

After that, I started putting things off—things I wanted to do with someone else—just in case he snapped at me again. Or in case he suddenly decided to commit. I got too cautious.

He called me vulgar pet names and made fun of me a lot. He requested oral sex multiple times a day, but only reciprocated now and then. He started saying he was physically uncomfortable to end things early. I never had an orgasm with him.

He didn’t seem interested in doing anything outside his home or his city with me.

Once I wrote it all out, I wondered if the good things were even worth listing. But I tried. He had a great sense of humor. He was fun to get naked with, though he had ED and wouldn’t use a cock ring, even though he’d said it might help. He seemed to have a good job, was organized, and we agreed on a lot—especially on explicit topics. I loved talking to him. He was extremely affectionate.

I started to feel hopeful for my future without him.

He offered to take me to a Lady Gaga concert. He talked about movies, karaoke, concerts, even driving out of his way to hang out. He brought up future plans more than once, and it seemed like he wanted to see me again.

When I told him about my social anxiety, he said, “we can work on it.” I apologized for being anxious, and he reassured me, even apologizing for “letting me feel anxious.” I told him it wasn’t his fault, but it felt good to be met with kindness.

But his replies started coming less and less. Three or four days would pass, sometimes longer, even when we’d left things open-ended. Sometimes a reply would come at two or three in the morning, and then nothing again for days.

Whenever I checked in, I tried to be gentle, not accusatory. I didn’t demand constant texting, and I told him I didn’t need that—just a bit of consistency so it didn’t feel like I was talking into a void.

Then he told me he’d be out of town for the rest of the month, helping his uncle. I understood, but the lack of even a short check-in still hurt. I found myself assuming he probably still talked to friends during that time, and that made me feel like less of a priority.

I struggle with anxiety, and the unpredictability of our communication triggered it badly. I worked on regulating myself, not overchecking my phone, not spiraling. But the pattern didn’t change.

I haven’t changed my approach. My check-ins are still gentle, and I haven’t pushed. The gaps are still there, and I don’t know why.

Now I’m left questioning whether he’s busy, avoidant, or just not that interested. I don’t know if genuine interest can exist alongside this kind of inconsistency, or if I’m asking for too much. I don’t know if I should wait and match his energy, ask for more consistency, or accept that this might not be sustainable for me.

I really like him. But I’m starting to feel worn down by all the uncertainty.

A few days before everything changed, we were still together—still having sex, still close, still talking about our future.

Then, after some time without texting, she messaged me the day before the breakup.

“I need space to fix our issues.”

That’s what she said. I believed her. I thought we were both trying to work things out, that we were still in this together.

The next day, she broke up with me.

After nearly four years, just like that, it ended.

On December 10, after the breakup, she sent me a long love letter. She wrote about how much she loved me, how she was still in love with me, how sorry she was for breaking my heart. Reading it made me confused and gave me hope at the same time. I thought maybe there was still something between us, that maybe it wasn’t really over.

Later, I asked her if there was any chance for us to try again.

She said no.

Since then, I’ve seen her out—socializing, partying, hanging out with friends and guys. Every time I see her or come across something online, it feels like a punch in the chest. She seems completely fine.

I keep checking her social media, even though I know it hurts. I find myself replaying moments in my mind, analyzing who she’s with, what it means, what changed, what I missed. Even knowing it makes things worse, I keep looking, telling myself “just one more time.”

My nights and mornings are the hardest. My nervous system feels stuck in panic mode. I’m constantly comparing, overthinking, and feeling rejected and erased.

I can’t make sense of how someone can say they love you after breaking up, how they can be affectionate and intimate and talk about the future just days before leaving, and then look so “moved on” so quickly after everything. It makes me question what was real, whether I imagined the bond, whether I was ever really important.

All I have now are questions, and the same thoughts circling back, again and again.

I sent him a picture before a work meeting. My hair was in a top bun, yesterday’s makeup still smudged around my eyes. I joked about looking a mess. He replied right away.

“Oh, hot date last night.”

I had been out and hadn’t answered his texts the night before. I didn’t say anything about a date, but there it was.

Two days later, he brought it up again.

I hadn’t mentioned dating anyone. I never do. He’s the one who made it clear, twice, that he didn’t want anything serious. The first time I told him I had feelings, he said he didn’t want a relationship and didn’t think he ever would again. I accepted it and moved on.

Then I found out he dated someone else. That hurt. I heard it ended after a few months, and I think she ended it.

After that, we started talking again. Hooking up again. From the start, he said it was just casual. I kept dating other people and saw him sometimes for sex. We texted every day, mostly just general chit chat and memes.

But now, these comments about my dating. He brings it up even though I don’t. It’s not the first time.

When I told him I might move out of state for a job, his reply was, “ok, bye.”

I keep texting him. I keep seeing him. I keep dating other people. I haven’t said anything about his comments, but they stick with me. He already rejected me twice. I don’t want to date him seriously anymore, but this is getting ridiculous.

The sex is still very good. The daily texts keep coming. I keep thinking about stopping, because the confusion is starting to outweigh the fun.

I already know the answer, but I haven’t done anything about it yet.

She told me, right near the start, that she’d just come out of something serious. She didn’t want to jump into another relationship, not yet. She wanted her summer, her space. I nodded, told her I appreciated her honesty—that I wanted to know her, not just chase some physical spark.

We stayed for hours. The conversation turned, as it tends to, to old wounds. She started talking about her ex, about what hadn’t worked, the things she was still sorting through. I listened, offered what I could, but after a while I said, gently, “I’m not here to be your therapist.”

When the night ended, I texted her: great time, hope to see you again. Her reply came fast—she’d had a great time too, and yes, let’s do it again.

After that, things shifted. The texting slowed. I’d reach out every three or four days—sometimes a compliment, like when I mentioned her exhibition. She answered, I told her to get some rest, signed off, and she replied. But it was always me ending it, tying off the thread. Ten days after the date, I asked if she wanted to meet up again, tried to keep it light. She said she was swamped, couldn’t make it. In the same message, she mentioned seeing me at a club recently. I answered, but she left me on read. That was the last message I sent.

Still, in person, it was different. If we ended up in the same place, I’d see her scanning the room until she found me. She started liking my social media posts—even though she’d never done that before.

It’s been a month since she said she wanted time for herself. But every time we cross paths, she finds me.

I haven’t messaged her since she left me on read. I keep running through it—her words, her actions, the way she laughs when we’re together. I don’t know if she’s just not ready, or if she likes the attention, or if she’s figuring things out and keeping it all open-ended. I don’t know when to stop hoping for more.

She leaned into me on the couch while we watched Malcolm in the Middle. In person, she was always like this.

We’d met through a friend about two months back. For the first month, we talked only over text. After a month of chatting, we finally met up for our first date. That was when she introduced me to her mom. I hadn’t expected it at all—my nerves were shot. The seriousness of meeting her family on day one stuck with me.

We made it official about a week ago. Now we see each other twice a week. When we’re together, she’ll hold my hand in public. She leans on me when we’re on the couch.

But then there’s the space between. Most of the time, she takes a long time to reply to texts. We don’t message much during the day. We never call. When she does answer, she’s nice, but the messages are infrequent.

I’ve asked friends about it. They all tell me not to worry, that her affection in person is what matters. I try to let that reassure me. At the same time, I can’t help but notice the difference. She’s so present when we’re together, but over text, it feels distant.

I know she works and studies—her days must be packed. I only study, but I drive a lot every day and sometimes don’t answer right away myself. Sometimes I wait on purpose, so she doesn’t feel pressured to reply quickly, or so I don’t seem too needy. I get that she’s busy, and I don’t need more texting. I just wonder if she’s comfortable with how we communicate.

The relationship is still really new. I haven’t brought it up. For now, we keep seeing each other twice a week.

He wrote, “It doesn’t need to be a relationship but someone who I can connect.” That was his answer when I asked what he was looking for. We had been talking for two months and met twice in person, but I still wasn’t sure where things stood.

I wanted to know his intentions, so I asked. That was the reply I got. It left things open, not exactly saying yes, not exactly saying no.

Later, he told me, “I’m not ready for a relationship at the moment but I would be happy to talk and see you as friends.” I didn’t ask him to exclude me from his life, and I didn’t press for a definite ending. I just asked if he was still up to meet again.

I kept thinking about whether he ever wanted a relationship, or if things maybe got too serious for him. I didn’t know.

I took my confusion online and wrote out what had happened. I asked what it means when someone says they’re not ready for a relationship but still wants to see you as friends, and what others would do if they were in my place.

There were a lot of replies, more than I thought there would be.

I hadn’t made any final decision. I hadn’t ended things officially. The question was still there.

He slid my chair out for me, opened the car doors, every gesture careful and practiced. We were at a nice restaurant in a big city, two hours from where he lived. The conversation pulled us so far in that our plates stayed untouched. Even the waiter noticed, commenting on how absorbed we were in each other.

After dinner, we went dancing. There was chemistry—so much that it felt like the whole evening was charged, every moment drawing us closer. I remember thinking it was rare to feel this seen.

The next morning, my phone lit up with his messages.

“I had an amazing time with you. You’re beautiful, intelligent, and sexy 😘”

Then, “I would love to see you again.”

A third one: “I wish I was still with you.”

And finally, “I have no regrets of staying up late with you, on the contrary only good memories.”

I replied, excited by the attention, thinking about what might happen next.

But the following day, nothing. I sent a message, and he answered, but it was short.

Now, two days after that, still nothing.

I’ve been single for a year since my divorce. I’m used to being pursued—men make a big effort, but after a date like this, or once they finally get what they want, they vanish. I keep noticing this pattern.

I don’t know why it happens. I don’t know what shifted after that night or what made him go silent. I’m left waiting, checking, wondering if this is just how it goes for me.