First Impression

J ♥ S | J Side

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She felt distant at first. Not unfriendly.Just like someone who doesn’t hand themselves over easily.

A little cold, maybe. Tough.Like there were layers you had to earn your way through.

I didn’t mind. Honestly, I liked it.

She spoke fast. Barely let me finish a sentence.I sat there, mostly listening. Fascinated.

She was sharp. Opinionated. Intense. Fast-moving.Not the kind of woman you impress easily.And definitely not the kind who waits for you to catch up.

I brought chorizo and jamón to impress her.She looked at them and said, “I don’t eat pork.”Not offended. Just stating a fact.She’s Tunisian. I didn’t even know where that was.

But everything she said surprised me. Still does.

I used to like blondes. She’s not that.She’s something else entirely.So beautiful I wasn’t sure she was real.

She wasn’t what I expected.She was more.

And whatever this was,I knew I didn’t want it to end.

J ♥ S | S Side

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He said, “I’m not looking for anything.Today I’m here. Tomorrow, who knows.”

He stood in front of me like a lost poet.Long hair. Colorful open shirt.Like a poet lost in his own own myth.

He’s white. I usually go for darker skin.And yet...

He started talking about Berlin red roomsand I thought, Oh no. This one’s going to be a problem.

Pushy. Charming.Don Juan type. Straight out of a spanish telenovela.

Then he orders this absurdly expensive matcha green juice,some trendy, overhyped thing.

I judged him instantly.

But then… dimples.He smiled, and I melted. Just a little. Against my will.

He was polite. Kind, in a way that caught me off guard.

I kept thinking, What’s the catch? Why is he being this nice?

Then he laughed.A big, real, unfiltered loud laugh.And something shifted.

Week one, he told me, “You’re the best flower in the garden.”I blinked. What the fuck. Who says that?

I told him I just want a friend.He was already standing there,holding the door open for more.

I wasn’t sure if I was ready. But I didn’t walk away.

J ♥ S | Together

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We didn’t start with certainty.We started with questions.

Some raised eyebrows.

Some misread signals.

Some red flags.

Some sparks we tried to ignore.

But something happened.

Even in the chaos, something felt right.

And that’s where this whole thing really began.

The Art of Speaking Love