I've always been the type of person who handles things logically.
Not emotionally. Not impulsively. Not in a way that leaves room for confusion.
I don't raise my voice when I'm upset. I don't argue just to be heard. And I definitely don't stay in situations that don't make sense to me. If something feels off, I address it. If it doesn't get fixed, I remove myself from it. Simple.
At least... that's how I've always operated.
Because to me, life isn't complicated unless you make it that way. People show you who they are, patterns reveal themselves, and decisions become clear when you stop letting emotions cloud your judgment.
That's how I've built everything I have.
Structure. Control. Clarity.
And for a long time...
that worked for me.
My life is organized in a way that makes sense to me.
I wake up early, not because I have to, but because I like having control over my time before the rest of the world starts moving. My mornings are quiet, structured-coffee, emails, a quick scan of my schedule before I even leave the house. By the time I step into work, I'm already ten steps ahead of whatever the day throws at me.
And at work...
I'm good.
Not average. Not "getting by."
Good.
The kind of good people rely on. The one they come to when something needs to be handled properly, when decisions need to be made without emotion getting in the way. I don't fold under pressure. I don't second-guess myself.
That's not who I am.
Or at least...
that's who I've always been.
People trust my judgment.
Not just at work-everywhere. Friends come to me when they need advice, when they're stuck in situations they can't see clearly, when emotions start clouding decisions they know don't make sense. I'm the one who listens, processes, and responds without bias.
"Simone will tell you the truth," they say.
And I do.
Even when it's not what they want to hear.
I've told people to leave relationships that weren't good for them.
Told them to stop making excuses for behavior that didn't line up with what they deserved.
Told them that if something keeps hurting you, it's not something you're supposed to stay in.
And I meant it every time.
When I met him, there was nothing about it that felt out of place.
No rush. No intensity. No overwhelming presence that made me feel like I had to figure him out. If anything, it was the opposite.
He was... steady.
The kind of person who spoke with intention, who didn't fill silence just to avoid it, who seemed comfortable letting conversations take their time instead of forcing them forward.
We met through work-nothing dramatic, just overlapping spaces, mutual connections, conversations that started professionally and stayed that way... at first.
He was easy to talk to.
Not in a way that pulled me in immediately, but in a way that made me comfortable enough not to question anything.
"I like how you think," he said once, after a conversation that had nothing to do with anything personal.
I glanced at him. "That's a first."
He smiled slightly. "No, it's not. People just don't say it out loud."
That made sense to me.
Everything about him did.
We didn't rush into anything.
That was one of the things I respected about him. There was no pressure to define what we were, no need to force something into a label before it had the chance to develop naturally.
We talked.
A lot.
Not surface-level conversations either. Not the kind that fill time but don't actually say anything.
Ours had weight to them. Structure. Purpose.
We talked about work, about decisions, about how people move and why they do the things they do. Conversations that made sense to me. Conversations that didn't feel draining or unnecessary.
"You analyze everything," he said one evening, watching me as I explained something most people wouldn't even think twice about.
"I don't analyze," I corrected. "I process."
He smiled slightly at that.
"Same thing."
"It's not," I replied calmly. "One is overthinking. The other is understanding."
He held my gaze for a second longer than expected. "Then I like the way you understand things."
That stayed with me.
Not because it was flattering...
but because it felt accurate.
And that mattered more to me than anything else.
He didn't just understand me-
he adapted to me.
The more we talked, the more I noticed how easily he met me where I was. If I kept things structured, he did too. If I stayed calm, he never pushed for more. He didn't challenge me in ways that felt confrontational, didn't force opinions or try to dominate conversations.
Instead...
he aligned.
"You like things to make sense," he said one night, like he was summarizing something he'd already figured out.
"I do," I replied.
He nodded.
"Then you probably don't deal well with people who complicate things for no reason."
I didn't answer right away.
Because that was true.
"I don't see the point in it," I said finally. "If something can be clear, it should be."
He leaned back slightly, watching me.
"That's what I like about you," he said. "You don't move off emotion. You move off logic."
I nodded once.
Because that's exactly how I saw myself.
And hearing it said out loud...
only reinforced it.
The first time it happened...
it was so small I almost missed it.
We were in the middle of a conversation-nothing serious, just something I mentioned about a meeting earlier that week. I was explaining how it went, what was said, how I handled it.
"You said you pushed the deadline back," he interrupted.
"I did," I replied, not thinking much of it.
He shook his head slightly.
"No, you didn't."
I paused.
"Yes, I did."
He leaned forward just a little, his tone still calm, still controlled.
"Simone, you told me they pushed it back on their own."
I blinked.
Because that didn't sound right.
"I'm pretty sure I said I suggested it," I replied, my voice slower now, more careful.
He didn't react.
Didn't argue.
Just held my gaze.
"No," he said simply. "You didn't."
And that was it.
No back-and-forth.
No escalation.
Just... a statement.
I let it go.
Because it didn't feel important enough to push.
But later...
I thought about it.
Longer than I should have.