Writing From a Desk in the Dark: Chapter 7

I never thought an ombudsman would save my relationship with Aaron. I didn’t even know what one was a few weeks ago. Our uni has an ombudsman whose job is conflict resolution. When students or professors can’t solve their own problems, he steps in. The ombudsman did a communication style workshop for student council to teach us how to read people and learn to adapt our communication style to match theirs.This was supposed to help us work better with each other, a lost cause usually. Student council is super toxic, with factions formed amongst coworkers. Think Divergent meets Model United Nations. Even though I often hate it, I won’t give it up. Quitting student council would mean admitting defeat and besides, I was elected. I couldn’t let the students who supported me down. Surprisingly, this workshop actually helped us understand each other, softening hostility amongst coworkers just a bit.

Aaron and I sat next to each other, helping each other fill out the questionnaires about our greatest weaknesses and strengths. Just being near him filled me with a bit of warmth. His presence calmed me. He’d look over at me, saying “that one’s definitely you,” to one of the questionnaire options. I’d tease him back with light hearted, but honest jabs. Despite his apparent indifference the past month we really know each other well, sometimes better than we know ourselves.

When we got our results, something clicked. I’m emotionally minded while Aaron is logically minded. No wonder we couldn’t connect. I found logical reasoning boring, while Aaron perceived emotions as a poor driver of decisions. He thinks of numbers and data when making decisions. I think of the people who will be impacted. We were literally on different wavelengths.

The workshop was the platonic marriage counseling we needed (though of course, we’re not married, nor a couple). After student council ended, Aaron and I chatted for several hours. Normally, he’d always head back to halls right away, citing an onslaught of homework. Instead, he prioritized connection with me. He saw me.

I can hardly describe what that felt like, to be practically invisible for months and then have him see me, not just superficially, but really see me. It was like he could see inside my soul, read what was in my heart, what I needed to save our friendship. For the first time, Aaron was honest. He told me what was wrong, initiating the conversation. We talked about where his life was, where mine was and where do we go from here. He actually confronted our problems instead of avoiding them and I tried to see things his way. He had no idea I felt ignored the past two months. Aaron promised to be more open in the future. He’s always kept his word, but I still don’t know if I can trust him to keep it. It’s irrational, but I don’t trust easily, even after knowing someone for almost two years. Whether or not he intended to, he still hurt me and it takes a long time for those wounds to heal.

I mainly felt relief. Not elation or any sort of joy, just a sense that at least it was over. For the moment, I wouldn’t lose him. Losing the people I care about, to other relationships, to graduation, that’s one of my greatest fears. At least for the moment, he won’t leave me. Before I said that it hurts, losing the person you feel close to, even when you aren’t good for each other. We still aren’t good for each other, but at least we’re trying.

Despite my relief, a fear still nagged at the back of my mind. What about when he gets a girlfriend? Will he leave me then? I’ve had a crush on Aaron for the better part of two years, loved him for the past four months. Some moments, like this night talking about his feelings, I thought he might like me. But he barely acknowledged me for two months prior. I was terrified of losing him. What if he rejected me? What if he liked someone else? If I did nothing, said nothing, I wouldn’t lose him now. But inevitably, I would in the future. He’d date someone else, or graduate and move away. Or I’d leave.

Ultimately, my fear of losing him due to inaction, of always being plagued with late night dreams of “what if..” was greater than my fear of his rejection. I saw a good post on Instagram that gave me courage. “Someone asked me: ‘if your life were a movie, what would the audience be screaming at the screen telling you to do right now?’ and I won’t stop thinking about that,” it said. The audience, witnessing my months of awkward flirting, of trying to gauge his response, of trying to understand him, would be screaming at me to just do it, rip off the bandage.

A week later I asked him out.