When Mr. Games Played Me
I met him on a rainy Thursday, and maybe that should have been my first warning—rain often foreshadows storms. He wasn't flashy or loud. He didn't walk into the room demanding attention, but somehow… he got mine.
He was of average height, had a soft but confident voice, a lean build, and a smile that made you believe everything was going to be okay. The kind of smile that convinces you to lower your guard. I was used to charming men who spoke in smooth riddles, but he was different—or so I thought.
Let's call him Mr. Games.
He was attentive in a way that felt sincere. He remembered the smallest details—like how I preferred honey to sugar in my tea or how I hated the sound of ticking clocks. He called every morning, texted throughout the day, sent memes that made me laugh, and always, always told me how beautiful I was—even when I felt the least attractive. It was like he had read a manual on how to be the perfect boyfriend.
But it wasn't long before the game began.
At first, it was subtle. A few white lies, small moments of withdrawal, mood swings he blamed on work stress. I excused it. I told myself, No relationship is perfect, and Maybe he's just tired. I had no idea I was falling into a carefully set trap.
Then came the nights he wouldn't pick my calls. The weekends he said he was traveling for business, only to post nothing, share nothing, and come back with the same wrinkled excuse: "Babe, you worry too much."
And maybe I did worry. Maybe deep down, I knew something wasn't right. But I silenced that voice. Because I loved him. And love makes fools out of even the smartest women.
The knife in the heart? It came from someone I trusted more than anyone else—my best friend.
She knew every secret I shared about him. Every fight, every make-up, every dream I had of building a life with him. She was my safe space. Or so I thought.
One day, while helping her tidy up her apartment, I picked up her phone to answer a call. It was instinctive. We had that kind of relationship—or again, so I thought. What I saw nearly dropped me to my knees.
His name.
Dozens of texts. Flirty messages. Photos. Inside jokes I didn't understand. And then... the final blow.
"Last night was amazing. Can't wait to do it again."
I stood there frozen, like the air had left the room. I scrolled. My hands trembled. My heart cracked with every message I read. Betrayal didn't come with a warning—it came with a phone screen and a thousand regrets.
When she walked in and saw me holding her phone, her face turned pale. And in that moment, I saw the truth in her eyes before she ever spoke it.
"It just happened," she whispered.
"You were always so in love with him, and I didn't mean to…"
I didn't wait to hear the rest. I walked out and never looked back.
The pain didn't come from just the cheating. It came from the fact that he looked me in the eye and lied. It came from knowing my best friend smiled in my face while hiding a dagger behind her back. It came from realizing that Mr. Games played me, and she was part of the game board.
I cried for weeks. I replayed everything in my head—every kiss, every date, every lie wrapped in a compliment. I questioned my worth, my instincts, my ability to ever trust again.
Was I not enough?
Was I just another level in the game he was playing?
But one day, I woke up and realized something powerful:
Mr. Games taught me one of the most important lessons I'll never forget—
The wrong man will come looking like the right one… but time, patience, and self-respect will always reveal the truth.
He wasn't Mr. Right. He was Mr. Pretend. Mr. Now-You-See-It, Now-You-Don't. Mr. All Talk, No Loyalty. He had all the charm, but none of the character.
And my best friend? She wasn't a friend at all. Just another player.
So, I wiped my tears, picked up the pieces, and decided never to settle again. Because love isn't just attention and affection in the beginning. It's who stays consistent. Who chooses you when no one's watching. Who doesn't turn love into a competition or a game.
Now, I know better.
And you should too.
Not every man who texts "good morning" is good for you. Not every friend is a sister. Not every man who makes you feel butterflies is your soulmate.
Sometimes, those butterflies are warnings.
And if you ignore them, the game will cost you more than just your heart.