I Gave It My All. She Gave Me Maybes

Most of us grew up believing love is supposed to be intense. Messy. Magical.

We watched Shah Rukh Khan stretch his arms open and say things jo real life mein koi aadmi bolta hi nahi, “ek mard sirf teen aurton ke saamne jhukta hai” (iykyk).

We believed that if love didn’t feel like a storm, it wasn’t love at all.

And me?
I bought into all of it.
I was that guy, the full-blown lover boy. The type who collapses into love like it’s gravity. Who sees cosmic signs in text replies. Who’s fueled by Bollywood lyrics, Hollywood rom-coms, and long-ass Spotify playlists that never helped.

But somewhere along the way, I started wondering: What if we’ve been doing this wrong? What if I’ve been doing this wrong?

Because if this was love, the sleepless nights, the second-guessing, the constant ache, then why did it feel so exhausting instead of empowering?

That’s when it hit me:

In today’s culture, we confuse mixed signals for passion.
We think mystery = depth.
We romanticise suffering as if it’s a measure of how real our connection is.

And trust me, I’ve been there.

Waiting for her reply.
Overthinking every message.
Feeling like if I just tried harder, gave more, fixed something, she’d finally open up.

That constant guessing, hoping, chasing?
It wasn’t love.
It was addiction.

But here’s what really messed with me,
Even after knowing it wasn’t love, I still couldn’t let go.
I kept going back, chasing crumbs, hoping for clarity in the chaos.

So I had to ask myself the uncomfortable question:

But why do we fall for the ones who make us feel unsure?

There’s a psychological loop behind this, intermittent reinforcement.
(Yeah, like the same thing that keeps people addicted to social media.)

It works like this:
When someone’s attention is inconsistent,
They text you sometimes, ghost you other times, flirt just enough to keep you hooked,
your brain sees it as scarce.

And what’s scarce feels valuable.
Not because it actually is,
but because it’s rare.

So we don’t fall in love.
We fall into a dopamine trap.

But it doesn’t stop there.
As if being addicted to uncertainty wasn’t bad enough.
We’ve also been handed another lie, gift-wrapped in every movie and Instagram quote:

That real love means fixing the one who can’t love you back.

Enter the next myth:

We’ve been sold a fantasy that love means healing someone who’s broken.
That if we’re just patient enough, loyal enough, special enough, they’ll finally choose us.

Look at movies like Titanic.

Jack is romanticised because he’s reckless and raw.
Cal is demonised because he’s rich and steady.
We’re taught that chaos = authenticity.
That “complicated” is sexy.
That drama is deep.

But let’s be real, Jack was fun, sure.
But was he reliable? Emotionally mature? Safe?

Love shouldn’t feel like jumping off a sinking ship.

And now, if you’re still reading this and nodding along,
especially to the women who’ve cried over boys who couldn’t even spell “emotional maturity”

Let’s talk.

Here’s something my lady readers need to hear, not from a place of blame, but from someone who’s been on the other side of the mess.

Let’s flip the perspective.

Roy Baumeister once said something brutal but kind of true:

Translation?
Men adapt.

If aloofness gets attention, they’ll be aloof.
If mixed signals earn affection, that’s what they’ll send.
If being emotionally unavailable is seen as “cool,” that’s what gets modeled.

And so, both sides suffer.

Men don’t know whether to send flowers or ignore you.
Women don’t know whether to trust the guy who texts too quickly.

We’re all confused. And culture profits off that confusion.

But love isn’t supposed to be this confusing.
It’s not meant to leave you anxious, overthinking, or second-guessing your worth.

If it feels like a puzzle with missing pieces,

That’s not love. That’s a trap.

But here’s a quiet truth I’ve come to realise,
the kind that hits you only after you’ve healed a bit:

No ghosting.
No tests.
No anxiety spirals.

Just someone who wants to be there.
And isn’t afraid to show it.

And that’s what we should be rooting for,
not fireworks followed by silence,
But clarity followed by commitment.

So let’s ask the better question:

Let’s reimagine love, together:

You’re not “clingy” for wanting consistency.
You’re not “boring” for wanting peace.
You’re just tired of calling chaos a connection.

I didn’t always know this.
In fact, I had to learn it the hard way, by going through it myself.

So if any of this feels familiar to you,

Let me tell you what happened when I finally started unlearning.

There was a time when I was with someone who rarely responded with the same energy I did.
She said she cared, but somehow I always felt like I was auditioning for the role of “worthy.”

I kept interpreting her silence as a mystery.
Her distance as depth.
And every time she did show up, it felt magical, like I’d won a prize. Like I’d won her.

But I was always chasing. Never resting.

And then, I met someone who actually liked me back. Clearly. Fully.

And I didn’t know what to do.

It felt “too easy.”
Like I hadn’t earned it.

That’s how messed up our definition of love gets.

But the good news?
Definitions can be rewritten.
Beliefs can be unlearned.

So here’s how I started rebuilding my idea of love,
not from movies or heartbreaks, but from truth.

So let’s try this again, with clarity.

Let’s stop performing.
Let’s stop mistaking mixed signals for magic.
Let’s stop rewarding people who can’t meet us halfway.

Here’s a better checklist:

Keep them.
Drop the rest.

Because when you clear the noise,
what you really deserve isn’t intensity,
It’s intimacy.

It’s not highs and lows. It’s home.

Let me show you what that looks like.

Love should feel like rest.
Like growth.
Like acceptance and elevation, both at once.

It’s not meant to feel like an exam you keep failing.
It’s a team.

A rhythm.

A mirror.

You’ll fight sometimes, sure.
But those fights should build understanding, not break the connection.

You should notice how your partner’s mood shifts.
You should be able to say “I love you” through actions, not just words.
You should be learning each other like a language. Like poetry.

And once you’ve seen this kind of love, the calm, safe, steady kind,
you can’t go back.

You begin to raise your standards.
You stop mistaking inconsistency for chemistry.

You start demanding something real.

To everyone out there, women, men, and everyone in between:

Stop settling for breadcrumbs.
Stop calling inconsistency “chemistry.”
Stop trying to earn love from people who are unsure.

I know this isn’t always easy to hear.
Sometimes, rewriting or what I say Reframing what love means to us feels like letting go of a dream we’ve held for too long.

But trust me, peace is a better plot twist than pain.

If all this hits you somewhere deep, I’m with you.
I’ve been there. I’m still figuring it out.
But I know this much now:

Reframe that.
You deserve better.
We all do.

Shivam Sharma
Writing for those who love hard, overthink often, and are finally ready to choose peace over pain.
This is Reframe.

Got thoughts, stories, or questions this stirred up? Don’t keep them to yourself, I’d love to hear, my DMs are open.