It wasn’t me this time.
It was A.
She just wanted to learn French.
No romance.
No flirtation.
Just verbs and vocabulary.
So she downloaded HelloTalk—
a language app, allegedly.
But her inbox?
Filled with men who thought conjugation meant seduction.
Unattractive, relentless, oddly confident.
One stood out.
A Quebecois.
He messaged first.
Then again.
Then again.
She hadn’t responded once.
But to him, silence meant “try harder.”
He wrote, “Persistence is key.”
As if A was a prize,
not a person.
She finally responded—
“You’re not my type.”
Short. Polite. Final.
He didn’t flinch.
He emotionally dumped.
“My grandma died,” he wrote.
Manipulation disguised as vulnerability.
A sympathy trap.
Then came the call request.
She said no.
He asked again.
No again.
He didn’t stop.
He sent a flexing pic.
Veins out. Shirt off.
Not seductive—sad.
The digital equivalent of begging for scraps.
Then the unfollow.
Not because he lost interest—
but because he wanted A to notice.
To chase.
He stalked her profile over ten times in one morning.
Changed his display picture repeatedly—
baiting comments,
fishing for relevance.
Then came the guilt trip.
“You’re really gonna ghost me?”
As if she owed him closure
for a connection that never existed.
He told jokes.
Cringe ones.
Dad jokes.
She said she hated them.
He told more.
She was clear.
He didn’t care.
🚩 Red Flags He Embodied:
Mistook a language app for a dating app.
Equated silence with interest.
Weaponized grief for attention.
Repeated boundary violations.
Forced thirst traps.
Petty unfollow followed by obsessive stalking.
Attention-seeking photo changes mid-convo.
Guilt-tripping and emotional blackmail.
Ignored preferences, over and over again.
🌿 What A Learned:
Unattractive isn’t just looks.
It’s disregard.
It’s desperation.
It’s denial.
A “no” isn’t an opening.
It’s the end.
You can’t emotionally manipulate someone
into attraction.
You can’t stalk your way into their heart.
You can’t joke your way past a firm boundary.
She didn’t owe him kindness.
And she gave it anyway.
Final Reflection:
He wasn’t in love.
He was obsessed—with control, with validation,
with the illusion of being wanted.
And A?
She walked away.
With her peace intact.
With her time un-wasted.
With her French just a little stronger.
He thought he was playing the long game.
She knew it was a short story.
Another man survived—
Not by me,
but by someone just as sharp.
The Men We Survived.
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