A Real Story

I downloaded an app specifically built for no-strings arrangements after my divorce finalized, mostly because I didn’t trust myself to date normally yet. I wrote myself three rules before I even matched with anyone: Tuesday nights only, no texting outside of scheduling, and absolutely no meeting anyone’s friends. Eric and I matched in week two. He was a contractor, funny in a dry way, and seemed genuinely fine with the setup — he even suggested we keep our profiles active so neither of us got the wrong idea.

For about four months it worked exactly like I wanted. We’d see each other every other Tuesday, order the same Thai place, and that was that. Then I got the flu bad enough to miss a week of work, and I made an offhand comment during one of our scheduling texts that I felt like garbage. Two hours later he was at my apartment door with soup and NyQuil, using a spare key I didn’t remember giving him access to get past the building’s front desk — he’d charmed my doorman weeks earlier without me knowing.

I should have been annoyed. Instead I cried a little, which was its own problem. We had a very awkward conversation on my couch, him in his coat because I wouldn’t let him near me while contagious, about what exactly we were doing. He admitted he’d stopped seeing other people around month two and hadn’t told me because he didn’t want to scare off the arrangement. I hadn’t stopped seeing other people, which suddenly felt like a betrayal even though it was literally the rule we’d agreed on.

We’re not together now — it fizzled a few months after that, awkwardly, the way things do when nobody wants to be the one who asks for more. But I learned that NSA only stays no-strings if both people actually check in with themselves regularly, not just at the start. The rules don’t enforce themselves once feelings show up uninvited, and by the time you notice, someone’s usually already downstairs with soup.