He was the guy who everyone hated the girlfriend of. She was psychotic in nature. They said, what did he see in her—and he is not a looker by standards, so she has nothing to worry about.
For me, he was the one who made me laugh. The one I could talk to with a flow that was natural. He was open to my questions. I was the only one there that he was really allowed to talk to when she was there, as I was the safe one—the one who was older and married.
There I was, hearing how other girls were harassed at their work or school. She even grabbed one by the collar, demanding to know where her boyfriend was. The girl had no idea. They were like, you were the only one she smiles at and is nice to. And that she was. Even if the girl had a boyfriend, they were not safe.
He was my favourite co-worker. The one that matched me in how we work. The team that manages to finish early. I was sad when he graduated and found a job that we went to school for. But the nature of his work meant that when he had free time, he had a lot of time. To kill time, he decided to come back to work with us.
That was the start of how I found out I was poly.
Poly. Polyamorous. Capable of loving more than one person at a time—not as a betrayal, but as a truth. It does not make me love any of them lesser.
He was then single and older. It meant we talked differently. It meant the kid was a man. It meant I learnt that my heart loves people who make me smile and laugh.
I did not need or want it back in a way. I was married with a kid and a husband who was extremely jealous. I did tell him my feelings, and I also told him what I want is for him to be happy and to find someone who made him happy.
He later married someone from my home country and had twin girls. I never spoke to him more than that time I told him goodbye and to be happy—for it was him who thought my heart has places for several people, and that we humans are capable of loving more than one.
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