Why I'm a 26-year-old man feeling anxious and missing her, a 25-year-old woman, throughout the day.
I would appreciate your advice on how to manage my feelings for her. She frequently visits my dreams and I feel anxious throughout most of the day, making it difficult to concentrate on anything.
Here's my story, with her name replaced by M.
I started working at this company in February 2024, and right from the beginning, I felt disillusioned and regretted my choice. I wasn't fond of the environment and contemplated quitting. However, things took a turn for the better after a month.
In March 2024, M joined our team. Since we were both newcomers, we naturally began to connect—talking during work, at lunch, and casually throughout the day. Initially, she initiated most of the conversations, and before long, we enjoyed each other’s company. We joked around and shared a playful, light-hearted bond.
As the months passed, our discussions extended beyond work hours. We started talking on the phone at night—sometimes for hours—covering everything from personal interests to deeper topics.
In July 2024, we went to the mall with a mutual colleague—watching a movie, shopping, and having dinner together. It was a wonderful day, and I felt even more drawn to her.
Then came August, the day of Raksha Bandhan. In a playful moment, I asked her to tie a rakhi on my wrist, and she agreed. But when she was about to do it, I stopped her. That moment hit me profoundly—I realized I had developed feelings for her, while the rakhi symbolizes a sibling bond. It hurt deeply. She noticed my change in mood and persistently asked what was wrong. I brushed it off, stating that I had a headache, but she could tell something was awry.
Eventually, when she continued to press for answers, I vaguely expressed that friendships can't exist with two kinds of people—one who is too undesirable to be friends with, and one who is too desirable. She grasped my meaning and became upset, exclaiming, “Every guy is the same… friendship should be pure…” and so on. In the end, she assured me I could always reach out if I had doubts.
A couple of days later, at work, she attempted to talk to me, and I responded as I usually did. After a few days, I finally asked her directly, “Do you want to take this to the next level?” Her reply was, “I like you as a friend, not as a boyfriend.”
I inquired if I needed to change anything, but she replied, “It’s not about you. I just don’t believe relationships last, and I can’t handle breakups.” That stung. I explained that being friends with someone I had feelings for would only hurt me more. So, I offered her two options—we could either remain simply colleagues or become complete strangers. She got angry and insisted we stay friends, but I remained firm.
From that point on, I stopped reaching out. However, she continued to try and connect for a few weeks until she felt like I was ignoring her. Then, she began to ignore me in return, and this stalemate lasted for two weeks.
One day, she seemed upset, so I asked her what was wrong. Initially, she said nothing, but after pressing her, she admitted, “You’ve been ignoring me, and I’ve been trying to talk to you.” She even had tears in her eyes when she left for the restroom. I felt awful. Later, I explained that I wasn’t ignoring her but was trying to limit our interaction to avoid becoming more emotionally attached. She understood.
By mid-September, we resumed talking. We found ourselves spending time alone in the office in the mornings, chatting with a mutual friend at lunch, and enjoying long phone conversations at night. The connection between us was remarkable—our conversations flowed effortlessly, and we often lost track of time. She would get upset over small matters, and I would always call to cheer her up. She did the same for me.
In October, we planned a movie outing—just the two of us. Afterwards, we strolled around the mall and enjoyed dinner. However, something felt slightly off. She wasn’t acting as she usually did. The next day, we had a minor argument over the phone, but after I called her back, we resolved it.
Then one night, while chatting, she casually mentioned, “I only have a limited number of friends.” It felt like a punch to the gut; it implied I was just one of many. Realizing how emotionally invested I had become while she viewed me merely as a friend was painful. Around that time, I also noticed her chatting more with another male colleague, which sparked my jealousy.
A few days later, she sensed something was bothering me and asked me at work why I seemed off. I avoided answering there, but later that night, I called her. I explained, “The more I talk to you, the more attached I get. If you ever start dating someone, it will hurt me. Since you only see me as a friend, I can’t keep pretending otherwise. I told you before—I can’t just be friends with you.” She went silent and then abruptly ended the call.
I attempted to call her again, but she rejected it. I messaged her, asking if we could talk. She finally replied, “I need time to process this. Call back in two days.” Those two days felt like an eternity. I insisted we talk that evening, and she reluctantly agreed but said she would only listen. When I explained everything, she hardly responded. After that, our communication ceased.
For two weeks, she worked from home. I missed her but held back from reaching out. I later learned she was still in contact with that other colleague, which made it even harder for me to cope.
By December, I decided to approach her in a casual manner. When we crossed paths in the office lift, I greeted her, and she responded. That day, we took a walk, chatted, and laughed. It felt nice, but later that night, we got into another argument about who should have reached out first. I messaged her to clarify my perspective, but she was busy talking with someone else, which stung even more.
In January, we met at a mutual friend’s bachelor party. She called to check when I would arrive. We ended up sitting together and shared a cab home. She seemed comfortable with me, and after that, she began calling and messaging again. Our late-night chats resumed, and it felt like things were returning to normal.
But in February, I noticed a shift—at work, I was always the one starting conversations, while she spent more time with other colleagues. It hurt me, so I decided to stop initiating contact entirely. She didn’t reach out, either.
At the end of February, I fell ill. On March 1st, I was hospitalized due to a liver infection. She found out on March 3rd, but didn’t reach out to me. I never expected her to, but it still stung.
On March 6th, a mutual colleague called to check on me and added M to the call. She barely inquired about my health, preferring to converse more with our colleague. After a few minutes, I excused myself and hung up, feeling shattered.
Two hours later, she called. I answered, trying to hold in my emotions. She asked about my condition and then casually said, “I was asking about you every day.” That felt insincere; if she really cared, she would have reached out directly. Before hanging up, she advised, “Let me know when you’re discharged.”
The next day, I received my report. She never called. Four days later, when another colleague mentioned my discharge in a group chat, she suddenly messaged me and even left a missed call. I chose to ignore it. The next day, I simply replied, “I’m good.” She didn’t respond—no calls or messages. Honestly, I didn’t expect any.
But what hurt the most wasn’t the silence—it was the insincerity.
After a year of knowing her, I came to a painful realization: I was just one of many in her life. Yet to my family, I am irreplaceable. My dad stayed with me in the hospital for eight days. My mom, sister, and brother called daily. They genuinely cared.
I've moved past any love or hatred for her—only one feeling lingers: I still miss her.