how well do you actually know me?
i built you an entire game instead of just asking you a question.
it stops being a game around halfway down ↓
start with the easy stuff
the surface-level me. the one that's already on my story. if you get these wrong we genuinely need to talk.
what do i order, 90% of the time?
my most-used emoji. be honest.
what's my actual toxic trait?
bad day. what goes on immediately?
i go quiet in a group. what's actually happening?
what's the first thing i notice walking into a room?
which of these actually makes me laugh, properly?
how do i actually take my chai?
warm-up over.
that was the easy half. keep scrolling — i'm about to make it weirder.
which one am i
first instinct only. no sitting there weighing it up. that's how you find out if you actually know someone.
4 seconds. every time. i've never once played it cool and we both know it.
3am, staring at the ceiling, mentally rewriting a conversation from 2019.
the paragraph. always the paragraph. sometimes two. i'm sorry.
i'd rather keep it. the internet doesn't need to be in this.
typing it. which is exactly why this whole page exists instead of a conversation.
tell me the plan. i'll still act surprised. i just need to know.
in the car. alone. three hours later. out of nowhere.
i apologise for existing in the room. working on it. slowly.
would i actually
these start silly. they do not stay silly. answer first, then i'll tell you the real one.
would i eat something i genuinely hate, just because you made it?
already have. twice. said it was great both times and would do it again tomorrow.
would i pick up if you rang at 4am with no explanation?
my phone is on silent for the entire planet except one contact. you've never checked. it's you.
would i tell you if something you said actually hurt me?
no. i sit on it for four days, decide it was my fault, and say nothing. i'm telling you here because i couldn't tell you there.
would i notice if you changed something small about yourself?
you cut it two inches shorter and i clocked it in about four seconds. i just didn't say anything, which is its own problem.
would i still want this if it got completely, unbearably boring?
boring with you is the actual goal. that's not a bit and it's not a nice thing to say — it's the entire plan.
would i be genuinely fine if you needed space for a week?
i'd say "of course, take your time" and then count every single day. you deserve the space. i'd just be bad at it quietly.
would i remember a date you mentioned once, in passing, months ago?
i have a note in my phone. it's a bit much. it's staying.
would i let you see me actually cry?
not yet. and that's probably the thing on this whole page i'd most like to change.
pick my beige flag
not a red one. not a green one. the completely pointless little habit that is unmistakably me.
you go first
i already wrote mine. they're sealed underneath yours.
what do you think i overthink the most?
what's actually true
whether i'm too much. every conversation, after it ends, i go back through it and edit myself. you have never once made me feel like too much — and i still do it anyway.
when do you think i feel the most like myself around you?
what's actually true
the boring bits. neither of us performing, you half on your phone, me talking about nothing. that's the version of me i actually like, and you're the only one who's met him.
what do you think i'm scared of, but never say out loud?
what's actually true
that one day you'll realise you got used to me instead of choosing me. i know that isn't fair to you. i'm saying it anyway, because pretending it isn't in my head hasn't worked once.
what do you think i need when i go quiet?
what's actually true
not fixing. not twenty questions. just don't leave the room. genuinely, that's the entire list.
what would i never admit i love about you?
what's actually true
the way you say my name when there's nobody else in the room. it's a completely different name. i've never told you that i can hear the difference.
if i could change one thing about us, what do you think it'd be?
what's actually true
nothing about us. i'd change how much i apologise for being inside it.
you didn't have to get any of those right. you just had to go first — while i was still sealed, with no idea what i'd written. that was the actual test, and you already passed it. 🤍
things i sent that you overthought
you've read at least one of these six times. i know, because i do it to yours. tap them. here's what they actually meant.
me
typing… (for eleven minutes)
i was in bed, half asleep, typing with one thumb. it was not a "k". it has never once been a "k".
i genuinely laughed out loud. i just don't know how to type laughing without it looking sarcastic. i've tried everything.
i wanted to say it properly, out loud, with my face — not in a chat window at 3pm. that's the whole thing. that's all it was.
i read it, my chest did a thing, and i put the phone face-down so i could think of something worth saying back. then i fell asleep. that's the entire crime.
okay — this one you were right to overthink. it was not fine. next time just ask me twice, because i will cave the second time. i always do.
the 🙂 is not passive aggressive. i type like somebody's aunt. that is the beginning and the end of it.
0 of 5 decoded
the ones i almost deleted
no points here. nothing to guess. these are just true. hold each one down — i'd like you to have to mean it.
i re-read our old chats when i'm anxious. not for anything specific. just to check we were real.
hold to read
i keep whatever you say last before you fall asleep. genuinely — i hold onto that one for the whole night.
hold to read
sometimes i think you're just used to me. i know that's my head talking and not you. it's still loud.
hold to read
i rehearse conversations with you in my head before we have them. this page took eleven drafts and i still nearly closed the tab.
hold to read
when you're happy about something that has absolutely nothing to do with me, that's still the best thing that happens all week.
hold to read
i've never been good at being loved without flinching. you're the first person i've stopped flinching at.
hold to read
that's all of them. you're holding the whole thing now.
so — how'd you do
you've got homework
and genuinely? good. that means there's a whole lot of me you haven't found yet — and i'd quite like to be around while you do. nobody knows anybody in one page.
you know the outline
you've got the shape of me right. the details are still loading, which is fair, because i don't exactly hand them out. you're closer than most people have ever got.
you actually see me
you got the ones i've never said out loud. do you know how rare that is? i didn't build this to test you. i built it so you'd find out you'd pass.
okay this is unsettling
every single one. either you've been paying attention this entire time, or you live in my head permanently. both are fine. both are, more or less, the point.
the easy ones
0/0
this or that
0/0
would i
0/0
for the record, the number was never the thing. you opened it, and you went all the way to the bottom, and you answered the ones nobody was marking. that was the thing.
okay. my turn to ask.
after all of that — do you still want to be the person who knows me?
now you. say something back.
anything. one word, one paragraph, one thing you didn't get to say. no marks for this one either.
okay. that one's ours now. 🤍