why is he hot and cold

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.