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These lil nigga funny
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Part 1:
looksmax.org
Title: “What Ravi Didn’t Say”
Ravi met Claire at a data visualization workshop.
She was tall, mixed race—Black and white—with almond eyes and a sharp wit. She wore oversized sweaters and knew the right moments to laugh. They started talking about code. Then books. Then movies. Within weeks, they were seeing each other twice a week, then four times. Ravi had never dated someone like her. Not just beautiful—elevated. Self-assured. The kind of person who knew what wine to order, what songs to play when the mood dropped, how to look you in the eye just long enough to make you wonder what she was thinking.
Their sex was… fine. Ravi was attentive, generous, grateful. Always grateful. He went down on her every time. She didn’t ask for much else. Afterward, they’d cuddle. She’d rest her head on his chest. Sometimes she’d trace her fingers over the slight curve of his stomach.
“You’re sweet,” she told him once. “Like—really sweet.”
But that word sweet sat wrong in his head. He didn’t want to be sweet. He wanted to be wanted.
One night, three months into dating, she mentioned an ex—Darius.
She didn’t linger on the name. Just dropped it mid-conversation. “Darius used to play that song,” she said, tapping her phone. “God, that man had terrible taste in R&B.”
Ravi didn’t ask questions. But he googled. Scrolled her old Instagram. Found a photo from 2020: her and a tall Black man in a Lakers jersey, arms wrapped tight, her smile brighter than he’d ever seen it in person.
Ravi stared at the photo for a long time.
That night, they had sex. He was rougher. Not mean, but more urgent. Claire moaned louder than usual. He finished quickly. She didn’t. She said it was okay. He apologized. They lay in silence afterward.
Something had shifted.
Over the next few weeks, Ravi noticed a change in Claire’s eyes. Not colder—just farther. She responded slower to texts. Laughed less. She still came over, still let him hold her, still let him try. But her smile felt thinner. Like it had learned how to be polite.
Then one Friday, she told him she needed space. “I feel like I’m not being fair to you,” she said. “You deserve someone who really shows up.”
He didn’t argue. He just nodded.
Two weeks later, he saw her at a house party. She was with Darius.
It wasn’t dramatic. No kissing. Just presence. Claire standing beside a man who dwarfed Ravi in height, build, charisma. Darius had an ease Ravi could never simulate. A presence that didn’t need to prove itself. He shook hands with everyone, cracked jokes that landed, held eye contact that didn’t flinch.
When their eyes met, Ravi gave a small nod. Claire looked away.
He left early. Walked home alone. His phone buzzed with a meme from a coworker. He didn’t laugh.
That night, Ravi didn’t cry. He opened his laptop. Searched through old Reddit threads. Posts about men who’d been “left for someone else.” One thread caught his eye: “Cuckolded by her ex — how do I recover?” He clicked it. Hundreds of comments. Some angry. Some sad. Some fetishizing pain, turning it into something they could control.
Ravi closed the tab.
He knew what he felt wasn’t just jealousy. It was invisibility. That no matter how kind he was, how stable, how loving, there was a part of desire that could not be earned. Only commanded.
He wasn’t angry at Claire. Not even at Darius. But he hated the mirror they held up to him. One where he saw himself not as a partner—but a placeholder.
Afterword:
Ravi didn’t spiral. He didn’t become a “redpill” guy. He didn’t fetishize humiliation.
But the wound stayed. The quiet knowledge that in a world of loud desires, his name would never be shouted.
So he started therapy again. Worked on his posture. Spent less time online.
And, over time, began to accept that some desires would never orbit him.
But even unchosen planets have gravity.
The Tale of RAVI 🙋🏾♂️🇮🇳: A 26y/o Indian’s Experiences in the US Dating Market (WARNING ‼️⚠️: BRUTAL 😲🙊)
Title: “Messages Left on Read” Ravi was 26, working as a systems analyst in a mid-sized tech company just outside Philadelphia. He made decent money—enough for a one-bedroom apartment, decent takeout on weekends, and the occasional trip back to New Jersey to see his parents. His Tinder profile...
looksmax.org
Title: “What Ravi Didn’t Say”
Ravi met Claire at a data visualization workshop.
She was tall, mixed race—Black and white—with almond eyes and a sharp wit. She wore oversized sweaters and knew the right moments to laugh. They started talking about code. Then books. Then movies. Within weeks, they were seeing each other twice a week, then four times. Ravi had never dated someone like her. Not just beautiful—elevated. Self-assured. The kind of person who knew what wine to order, what songs to play when the mood dropped, how to look you in the eye just long enough to make you wonder what she was thinking.
Their sex was… fine. Ravi was attentive, generous, grateful. Always grateful. He went down on her every time. She didn’t ask for much else. Afterward, they’d cuddle. She’d rest her head on his chest. Sometimes she’d trace her fingers over the slight curve of his stomach.
“You’re sweet,” she told him once. “Like—really sweet.”
But that word sweet sat wrong in his head. He didn’t want to be sweet. He wanted to be wanted.
One night, three months into dating, she mentioned an ex—Darius.
She didn’t linger on the name. Just dropped it mid-conversation. “Darius used to play that song,” she said, tapping her phone. “God, that man had terrible taste in R&B.”
Ravi didn’t ask questions. But he googled. Scrolled her old Instagram. Found a photo from 2020: her and a tall Black man in a Lakers jersey, arms wrapped tight, her smile brighter than he’d ever seen it in person.
Ravi stared at the photo for a long time.
That night, they had sex. He was rougher. Not mean, but more urgent. Claire moaned louder than usual. He finished quickly. She didn’t. She said it was okay. He apologized. They lay in silence afterward.
Something had shifted.
Over the next few weeks, Ravi noticed a change in Claire’s eyes. Not colder—just farther. She responded slower to texts. Laughed less. She still came over, still let him hold her, still let him try. But her smile felt thinner. Like it had learned how to be polite.
Then one Friday, she told him she needed space. “I feel like I’m not being fair to you,” she said. “You deserve someone who really shows up.”
He didn’t argue. He just nodded.
Two weeks later, he saw her at a house party. She was with Darius.
It wasn’t dramatic. No kissing. Just presence. Claire standing beside a man who dwarfed Ravi in height, build, charisma. Darius had an ease Ravi could never simulate. A presence that didn’t need to prove itself. He shook hands with everyone, cracked jokes that landed, held eye contact that didn’t flinch.
When their eyes met, Ravi gave a small nod. Claire looked away.
He left early. Walked home alone. His phone buzzed with a meme from a coworker. He didn’t laugh.
That night, Ravi didn’t cry. He opened his laptop. Searched through old Reddit threads. Posts about men who’d been “left for someone else.” One thread caught his eye: “Cuckolded by her ex — how do I recover?” He clicked it. Hundreds of comments. Some angry. Some sad. Some fetishizing pain, turning it into something they could control.
Ravi closed the tab.
He knew what he felt wasn’t just jealousy. It was invisibility. That no matter how kind he was, how stable, how loving, there was a part of desire that could not be earned. Only commanded.
He wasn’t angry at Claire. Not even at Darius. But he hated the mirror they held up to him. One where he saw himself not as a partner—but a placeholder.
Afterword:
Ravi didn’t spiral. He didn’t become a “redpill” guy. He didn’t fetishize humiliation.
But the wound stayed. The quiet knowledge that in a world of loud desires, his name would never be shouted.
So he started therapy again. Worked on his posture. Spent less time online.
And, over time, began to accept that some desires would never orbit him.
But even unchosen planets have gravity.
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