It was real. You didn't make it up. He isn't placating, nor is he sucking up. (You never make him grovel, remember? It's been six years and he's never been beaten down, not once, and he figured it all out for himself- he knows you. But more importantly, he knows himself.)

You didn't bewitch him into bed. (Remember that, because it matters.)

And as much as you love being the woman who has kindly friends, this was not their favour. This was not their gift.

It was his.

Stop pretending you're in control of every aspect in your life. It's arrogant and embarrasingly self-loathing at the same time. You always knew you weren't the ugliest, so stop pretending you can't fathom how he ever looked your way. Stop pretending you worked your invisible fingers and nudged his sweet head in your direction. You may have done that a few times in your life, but you didn't this time. You knew, deep down in that brittle spine of yours that if you did, and it worked, that it wouldn't have counted, that it would have been cheating, that it would never sit right with you.

You knew you always wanted it to be real.

So you clasped your hands behind your back, and bound your fingers (even the invisible ones) into knots. And you waited.

And it happened.

And it was real.