I have ADHD. Not the version people manage and medicate and apologise for. Not the oh I think I might have it version. The diagnosed kind. The real one. The one that's been there since the beginning and explains everything and nothing at the same time.

Bonkers. Brilliant. A handful.

The one that thinks faster than it can speak. That sees patterns before anyone else sees the picture. That builds things at 3am because the idea won't wait until morning. That feels everything so deeply it has to go somewhere. That loves so hard it becomes its own weather system.

Strong willed. Creative. Completely incapable of doing anything by half.

And the one that feels energy. Not mystically. Just honestly.

Some people walk into a room and light it up. Some people drain it. Most people are somewhere in between. I feel it immediately. Always have.

Yours stopped me in my tracks.

But here's the thing. My ADHD is both a beautiful gift and a draining curse.

I walked into Pump two years ago and I saw you and something hit me. I didn't know what it was. I didn't know you. I just felt something I'd never felt before. My brain locked on and it never let go.

Not because you're fit. Not because you're pretty. Because something deeper was coming off you that I couldn't explain.

I saw something in you that first day that I couldn't stop thinking about. Not just who you are in a room. Something underneath that. Something quieter. Something real. Something you don't show everyone.

The woman who laughs loudest and the woman who goes quiet sometimes when she thinks nobody's looking.

I saw both.

And I wanted the one underneath. The real one. The quiet one. You.

Your eyes give you away every time. There's something behind them that the rest of you is trying to keep quiet. I see it. I've always seen it.

And I kept seeing it. Even when you were trying to make sure I couldn't.

I had no choice. You had cut every route. Meta. Myzone. Everything.

Both times I was saying goodbye. Properly. Sayonara. Not mine to hold. I wish you all the best. Meaning every word.

Both times you blocked me anyway. The first took you two days. The last took thirty seconds.

Both of them hurt.

Then the corridor after Spain. First time face to face. Nervous small talk. Both of us pretending. And then at the end eyes locked for a couple of beats and neither of us said a word. We didn't need to.

You blocked me on Myzone and I flew to Dubai. Seven days on a sunbed. Started building something on my phone because every door had closed and my brain opened a different one. Came back thinking I was done. Properly done. You'd made the decision for both of us and I respected it. Packed it away.

Let's be clear. At that point I had moved on.

And then one day you looked at me through that glass at the water station. Cooling down after Blaze. I was on my way to spin. Thirty seconds. Looking haunted and exhausted. And you wouldn't look away. I raised a hand and walked off. You jolted. Like I'd pulled you back from somewhere.

That's what you do to me Rebecca.

Straight back in the room. Instantly. Like I'd never left.

A week later I left you a note. A lemon. Run by Snow Patrol. And the truth. More than I could carry on my own any longer.

And then I went dark again.

But I kept getting pulled back in. Every time I actually went. Something pulled me back. Always you.

I started going back to Blaze on Saturdays. Same room. Same hour. Six feet apart.

First class back and it was already there. Arm to arm. Both of us pushing into each other and pretending we weren't. The high five that got firmer every week. Held longer than it needed to be. Neither of us letting go first.

And two weeks ago in the cafe after Blaze. I told you my heart rate had been too high. Twenty seven minutes in red. Faith told me to get myself checked.

You already know why it's too high.

We stood there in silence. Two feet apart. Neither of us moved.

I don't know what this is for you. I know what it is for me. And I think you know that something's here that neither of us knows what to do with.

The way we can't even talk to each other anymore. Everything loaded. Everything nervous. That's not normal is it.

I felt you before I knew you. My body knew before my brain caught up. When I touched your shoulder in Blaze it wasn't planned. My body moved towards you because it recognised something in you that matched something in me. I didn't think about it. I just reached for you.

And you didn't pull away.

I've never said all of this out loud before. Not properly. Not all of it in one place.

But I need you to know what's real. Because we've been circling this for two years and neither of us knows what to do with it and I'd rather say it plainly than keep pretending that Saturday morning small talk is enough.

All of it was real. Every moment. Every look. From my side.

This isn't the first time I've tried to tell you.

Seven months ago I sent you a note. I said I could see the energy behind your eyes. The uniqueness. The something underneath that most people never even look for.

And I said that if you see something real in someone you should tell them. Because it might be the only thing they never forget.

I still believe it. That's why I'm here again.

And while I was feeling all of that my brain was building. Because that's what the ADHD does. It takes everything I feel and turns it into something real. It can't sit with wanting. It builds with it.

Seven days on a sunbed in Dubai. Just me and my phone and an idea that wouldn't sit still. The concept took shape out there. The 3am sessions came later, back home, four screens, trains, every spare minute. Every door closed so my brain opened a different one.

That's what I was trying to show you. Not to impress you. Because it came from you. Because every late night and every line of code had you underneath it. And I wanted you to see what you'd started in me.

You're in procurement. You evaluate value for a living. Two weeks ago I offered you a link in a car park. You said yes. I watched your face change. And then you said no. I walked away knowing exactly why.

I walked away.

I wanted you. The real one. The quiet one.

Last year I told you. Look after your mum. They're gone too soon.

Mine had just gone.

You said thanks Paul.

My mum died just over a year ago.

Her last words to me were simple.

And I've spent two years watching you from across a room knowing exactly what's missing and saying nothing.

She would have told me to stop being a coward.

Council estate kid who escaped. Who feels everything at full volume and can't pretend otherwise. Who builds things at 3am because the wanting has to go somewhere. Who got caught in the Sri Lanka monsoon, booked a flight to Dubai on the spot, and was on a plane within four hours because one life and why the fuck not. Who taught himself to code from scratch on a phone on a plane because nobody else was going to do it. Who has sat in this gym for two years carrying something that had no address. Who cried when his mum died and built something worth millions without ever saying that's what he was doing.

Who loves hard. Completely. Without a volume control.

I'd rather be too much than not enough.

I just don't want to keep pretending I feel nothing on a Saturday morning.

No more awkward Tuesdays.

No more loaded Saturdays.

I've said everything now. Every true thing. There's nothing left to say.

After this I'm gone. Different timetables.

Done and you in the same sentence.

Again.

Except this time you get to decide if that's true.

The ADHD won't let me leave loops open. Two years of this one. That's why Dubai. That's why the code. That's why this letter. The gift is it turns everything into something real. The flaw is it can't sit with unfinished.

This is just how I'm built.

If I don't hear from you I'll know the loop closes here.

And I'll let it.

Just this. Just the truth. Just once.

Hold my hand. Hold your breath.

Tap the number twice.

I've got you.

Tap it. Hi is already written.