1 month ago
19 
Looking down at me, my date, Amiri* held my gaze for a beat before asking, ‘Do you want to go upstairs?’.
We’d somehow found ourselves on his living room floor after a passionate kiss on his sofa. I looked back at him, searching his face for confirmation of what I already suspected.
‘What?’ I laughed softly. ‘You want to have sex?’
He gazed at me, desire written plainly in his expression, and gave a small nod.
I wanted to have sex with him, too. Badly.
Anticipation had hung in the air all evening – throughout our romantic dinner, our post-dinner drinks and as we’d sat in his living room, pretending to focus on a Netflix movie while the atmosphere sparked and fizzed with unspoken sexual tension.
At last, he’d finally pulled me onto his lap and kissed me. What began as tentative quickly grew more intense, the tension that had been building throughout the evening finally finding an outlet.
I was heavily attracted to this man and the last time I’d had sex was three years ago.
But what mattered more was my three-month rule: a personal boundary I set where I don’t become physically involved or emotionally invested within the first 12 weeks of dating someone.
I’d only known Amiri for two months. So, I gently smiled and told him, ‘It’s too soon.’
I created my three-month rule after noticing a recurring pattern in my dating experiences.
The ‘three-month-mark’ is commonly acknowledged as the ‘initial excitement phase’ of a relationship; and that was certainly my experience. It was always after about 90 days that the men I was dating seemed to lose interest.
They’d be heavily involved at the start; buying me flowers, taking me on dates, talking and FaceTiming all the time. In response, I’d share the most precious parts of myself – physically and emotionally – with someone I believed I’d found something real with, only to watch his affection fade as we reached the three-month mark.
The thoughtful dates would inevitably become a distant memory and it was always up to me to suggest spending time together. The flowers and meaningful gestures disappeared. Messages became less frequent.
Every time, I’d find myself feeling like an afterthought rather than a partner.
I wanted to see what happened once the initial excitement wore off
Like clockwork, I’d hear the same familiar explanations each time: ‘I’m not in the right place emotionally’; ‘I’ve got too much going on’. Or worse, I’d get no explanation at all and would simply be ghosted, left with unanswered questions and the quiet ache of wondering why someone who once seemed so certain could vanish as though nothing had ever existed.
Every time, the shift would happen quietly, in a thousand small moments, until one day I’d realise I was mourning yet another relationship before it was over.
Eventually, I grew weary of reliving the same heartbreak in different forms; and I made a decision – for the first three months of dating someone, I would intentionally avoid becoming physically intimate or emotionally over-invested.
That did not mean withholding affection or pretending to be uninterested. I would still flirt, enjoy romantic moments, and share the occasional kiss. But I would continue putting myself first, instead of automatically matching the other person’s pace; I’d make time for me, and wouldn’t drop everything to see or talk to whoever I was dating.
And I’d abstain from sex and any other form of sexual intimacy during those first three months.
I wanted to establish clear boundaries, filter out men who were only interested in sex, and allow enough time for genuine intentions to reveal themselves naturally – and I wanted to see what happened once the initial excitement wore off. Would the effort remain consistent? Or would their enthusiasm gradually disappear altogether?
I wasn’t trying to play games or manipulate anyone. I was protecting myself. After experiencing the same painful patterns time and again, I wanted to know whether changing my approach might finally change the outcome.
And it did.
I never announced this 90-day rule to anyone I was dating in 2023. Instead, I quietly observed – and, for the first time in a long time, I was able to distinguish between genuine intentions and empty promises. I stopped wasting my time trying to convince people to choose me and instead learned to recognise who had already made that choice through their actions.
When I told Amiri I wouldn’t have sex with him, I never saw him again. We would text and call here and there, but eventually it fizzled out.
Years ago, that outcome would have devastated me. I would have endlessly replayed the evening in my mind, wondering whether I should have done something differently.
But this time I didn’t question anything. Instead, I thanked myself. By simply saying, ‘It’s too soon,’ I had learned everything I needed to know.
His decision to walk away wasn’t proof that I had lost an opportunity; it was a sign that we were looking for different things. Boundaries don’t push the right people away – they reveal who was never prepared to stay in the first place.
And perhaps that was the greatest lesson the 90-day rule taught me.
It was never about waiting for sex. It was about waiting for clarity – giving people enough time to reveal who they truly are, and giving myself enough self-respect not to settle for anything less than consistency, intention, and genuine love.
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Bengali (Bangladesh) · 
English (United States) ·