My calendar was empty. Somehow, it still belonged to him.

I told five people I needed a weekend to myself, then spent Friday evening checking whether Daniel was in my neighbourhood.

He wasn’t. He was at a restaurant across town with a woman whose shoulder appeared in his story. I knew the restaurant from the wall lights. I knew the shoulder from a birthday photograph. I was allegedly resting.

To be clear, Daniel and I were not together. We had gone out four times, slept together twice, and developed a texting rhythm best described as a small business with irregular opening hours.

On Wednesday he’d said, “Maybe I’ll see you this weekend.”

I had responded, “Maybe.”

Then I cancelled a Saturday lunch.

My friend Priya was the first to become suspicious. She had invited me to dinner at her flat, where her new boyfriend would be making something ambitious with aubergines.

“Can’t,” I said. “Protecting my peace.”

“From vegetables?”

“From plans.”

She sent a thumbs-up. Priya’s thumbs-up had different temperatures. This one came out of a freezer.

By Saturday afternoon, I had washed my hair, changed my sheets, and put on the earrings I supposedly wore only for myself. Daniel had not texted. I opened a book and read one paragraph four times. The woman in it had crossed a room. I envied her progress.

At seven, my phone lit up.

Priya had sent a photograph of the dinner table. Six plates. Candles. Her boyfriend looking terrified beside a casserole dish. At the far end was a man I didn’t recognise, laughing with his head turned away.

“Who’s that?” I wrote.

“Eli. My neighbour.”

“Cute.”

“Yes. He arrived at the time we agreed.”

I deserved that.

Daniel texted at 9:18.

“Out near yours. You around?”

I stood up so quickly the book fell off my lap. Then, because I was a woman with boundaries, I waited eleven minutes.

“Having a quiet one.”

“Nice. Might come say hi later.”

Might. The smallest word capable of eating an entire evening.

At 10:06, I put wine in the fridge. At 10:42, I decided I didn’t want wine. At 11:03, I looked at the photograph of Priya’s table again. Someone had put a candle into the aubergine dish. They were clearly having a terrible, wonderful time.

Daniel called at 11:27.

“Hey. We’re moving on somewhere. Rain check?”

For a moment I said nothing.

“You still there?”

“Yes.”

“You said you were having a quiet night.”

I had. I had said every available thing except the truth, then expected him to make arrangements around it.

“Were we actually going to see each other?” I asked.

“I thought we were just seeing how the night went.”

His night had gone several places. Mine had stayed within hearing distance of a phone.

I said goodnight. He sounded puzzled, rather than guilty, and that annoyed me more than I care to admit. It would have been much easier if he had knowingly ruined my evening. Instead I had done most of the administrative work myself.

At midnight, I called Priya.

“Is there any food left?”

“Why?”

“I’ve finished protecting my peace.”

She made me tell her everything before she let me come over. Not as punishment. She needed time to find my container.

When I arrived, the guests had gone. Her boyfriend was asleep on the sofa. There was no attractive neighbour waiting to reward my personal development. There were three chairs stacked awkwardly in the corner and a sink full of the evening I had missed.

Priya reheated my dinner.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I kept the night free for someone who hadn’t asked for it.”

“I did ask for it.”

“I know.”

She sat opposite me. For a while we ate without talking. Then she told me Eli had knocked over a candle, the smoke alarm had gone off, and her boyfriend had tried to fan it with a chopping board covered in garlic.

I laughed so hard I had to put down my fork.

On Sunday, Daniel asked whether I was free that evening.

“No,” I wrote. “Tuesday at seven?”

He said he’d let me know.

I left Tuesday alone. I didn’t keep it free. There is a difference, though I am still learning how to behave like I believe it.

Then I messaged Priya. “Next dinner, I’m coming.”

“You’re cooking.”

Fair.