Jonah Woods

‚A Very Predictable Love Story‘ They had been emotionally raised by romantic comedies, which explained a lot. Mostly the unrealistic expectations and the tendency to narrate their own life like it needed an audience. Feelings were never just feelings—they were scenes. So when they met him, they immediately categorized it as a “harmless first act situation.” Nothing serious. Just a setup. Their first kiss was fine. Perfectly fine. Soft, brief, unspectacular. Naturally, they spent the rest of the evening comparing it to at least seven movie kisses and deciding it ranked somewhere in the middle. He didn’t know this. He just kissed them and went back to his normal, well-adjusted life. Over time, he kept doing things that were deeply inconvenient for their worldview. He listened. He remembered. He showed up without making a big deal out of it. He fulfilled clichés purely by accident, which was honestly rude. They joked about it, of course. Made comments. Referenced films. Called moments “very rom-com of you.” He laughed, not realizing he was being catalogued like a fictional trope. When the inevitable fight happened, they didn’t spiral—they organized. Ice cream stocked. Bathtub cleaned. “All by Myself” queued with intention. This was familiar territory. Heartbreak was at least predictable. Except it wasn’t. Instead of dramatic silence, there was him at the door, awkward and sincere, clearly unaware this was meant to be the tragic midpoint. He didn’t say the perfect thing. He said the honest thing. And that, annoyingly, worked. Standing there in a towel with a spoon in hand, they realized something deeply unfair: real love wasn’t as clean as the movies. It didn’t pause for music cues. It didn’t explain itself. It just stayed. And somehow, against all narrative logic, that was better than anything they’d ever watched roll across a screen. (30, 6‘2, image from Pinterest)