I can’t love someone my own body pulls away from.
We met almost by accident on social media, but from the very first day the conversation flowed as if we had always known each other. He was European — the kind of handsome that makes you wonder why someone like that is even talking to you. Polite, gentle, thoughtful, with an accent that melted me every time he spoke.
We wrote for hours. Then we started calling.
We shared daily life, plans, thoughts, dreams.
We were a couple without saying the word.
A relationship without labels — but full of feeling.
A year of connection
This went on for a full year.
A year where he was the first person I messaged in the morning and the last one I said goodnight to. And when we finally decided to meet in person, I was convinced life was about to give me that big, beautiful yes.
He took a long flight to my country.
I waited for him at the airport, shaking with excitement.
When he walked out and hugged me, my knees went weak.
But in that very moment, I noticed something that confused me.
A strong, unpleasant smell.
He was sweaty, completely soaked, and I immediately told myself:
It’s normal. It’s hot here. He’s tired. Long flight.
I tried to ignore it.
When reality quietly breaks the fantasy
The first day was lovely — walks, food, photos.
But the smell didn’t go away.
That evening, at the hotel, I assumed he would shower, freshen up, change.
Instead, he lay down and said he was “dead tired.”
We slept like that.
The next day — the same.
And the day after that.
On the third morning, I woke up early, took a shower, and gently said:
“Love, why don’t you shower too so we can leave earlier?”
He looked at me calmly and said:
“Today’s not my day.”
I froze.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Don’t worry,” he said casually. “It’s just not my shower day.”
He walked toward the bathroom. The door stayed open.
I glanced inside.
He turned on the sink, wet his hands… and washed only his armpits.
No full shower.
No soap on his body.
No change of clothes.
That was it.
Everything we had built for a year — all the romance, all the feelings — started cracking like glass.
When your body knows before your heart does
We went out again, but I couldn’t relax anymore.
The smell was strong. Unbearable. And he kept sweating because of the climate.
Every time he came close, my body pulled back.
The more I tried to ignore it, the stronger my reaction became — tension, discomfort, quiet disgust.
I didn’t expect it.
I didn’t want it.
I didn’t understand it.
We had talked for a year about emotions, plans, the future.
But we never talked about basics.
About hygiene.
About habits.
About the real, offline person — not the online version.
When he left, something in me was already gone
After he returned to his country, he kept texting. Calling. Sending photos.
He wanted us to continue. He was sincere.
But something inside me had completely shut down.
Not out of anger.
Not out of offense.
Out of incompatibility — one my body felt before my heart could argue.
I couldn’t imagine kissing him.
I couldn’t imagine hugging him.
I couldn’t imagine a future with someone for whom a shower was “not today.”
So I ended it.
I thanked him — for the trip, for the year, for the experience.
But I couldn’t go on.
The truth I had to accept
Sometimes I wonder if I overreacted.
If I should have talked to him.
If it was fair.
But the truth is simple:
Sometimes love doesn’t die because feelings disappear.
It dies because of a basic, physical incompatibility.
Something no one talks about — but everyone feels.
And I am not obligated to force myself to love someone
my own body instinctively rejects.
That, too, is a kind of honesty.