Not so Soup-er

Apparently, bringing someone soup means you're trying to start a family. Who knew?

How It Started

I had just landed in a new city, fresh out of a long-term, long-distance relationship that ended in slow motion. I was rebuilding: new job, new apartment, new playlists.

That’s when I met her.

We started hanging out casually. Both of us were clear about our intentions. Or lack thereof. I wasn’t looking for a relationship. She said she wasn’t either. Easy enough.

We bonded over music first. Shared tastes led to shared hours. Long nights where songs blurred into conversations, and conversations blurred into silence that didn’t feel awkward. Chill, simple, enjoyable.

The First Crack

Then one evening, she texted saying she wasn’t feeling great. Sick, run-down, maybe coming down with something. I was fine. Making soup, actually. Since we were already planning to meet up that night, I offered to bring her some.

She lit up at the idea. Soup in pajamas. A movie. Low effort, high comfort. The evening went by without incident. We laughed, we lounged, I left. That was it.

What Followed

The next morning, I got that text: "We need to talk."

It's never just talk, is it? And sometimes it is much more that that.

She called while I was driving. I answered, thinking maybe she needed to cancel plans. Instead, I got a 45-minute emotional monologue about how the soup night had unearthed trauma from past relationships. According to her, it felt like we were moving too fast. Apparently, my well-intentioned broth was symbolic. An unwanted déjà vu of domestic intimacy.

She said it made her feel like she was in a relationship again, and that scared her. Then, without skipping a beat, she offered that maybe we could be more than friends.

I didn’t know how to respond, so I bought myself some time. “Okay, I get it,” I said. “Let me sleep on it. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Something else was cooking.

Over the next 36 hours, my phone turned into a confessional booth. Walls of text. Long, intense, increasingly anxious. She needed reassurance. She needed answers. She needed to know I wasn’t just "dating for fun."

I wasn’t sure how to answer any of that. I wasn’t even sure what this was anymore. A casual connection had turned into emotional calculus I wasn’t prepared for. I froze, and I left the conversation.

A few days later came the voice notes. Lengthy reflections, further explanations, deeper layers of the soup saga. I listened, but I didn’t respond.

We had known each other for three weeks.

Note to Self

Sometimes, soup is just soup. And sometimes, it’s a flashbang.

You can say you’re not looking for a relationship, but if someone’s already scripting one in their head, it won’t matter. The pace you set means nothing if they're running ahead.

Boundaries aren’t built on disclaimers. They’re tested in the quiet moments, like soup in pajamas.