alexandra barnard

I met him at the perfect time. Or maybe the absolute worst - depending on how you choose to see it.

I wasn’t someone who fell easily. I built walls. I kept my heart locked behind sarcasm and caution. And he? He was the kind of man no one should ever fall for - the walking red flag, the charming storm you see coming but can’t look away from.

But then came the late-night run-ins at the bar, the unexpected rides on his motorcycle with the wind in my hair and his laughter in my ears. The banter that turned into confessions. The stolen moments before the sunrise that made the world feel different. Lighter. Realer.

Something shifted.

We weren’t supposed to work - not by anyone’s standards. He wasn’t the good guy. In fact, he was probably the worst decision I could make. But somehow, he was mine. And for the first time, that felt like enough.

This isn’t a fairy tale. There’s no glass slipper. No perfect ending with white horses and vows. I won’t pretend I was the princess, or that he was anything close to a prince. We were messy, flawed, real.

But even the most broken stories can have moments of beauty. And ours? It burned bright. It taught us more than any perfect love ever could.

For a while, it was everything. And maybe, sometimes, that’s enough.