I used to have this theory about texting.

If someone took more than a few hours to respond, they weren't that into you. If they replied instantly, they cared. It was that simple. Black and white. A perfect measure of someone's interest.

That theory cost me an eight-year relationship.

"I'm just really busy," he'd say. Those words used to make my blood boil. Back then, with my comfortable 9-5 job, I couldn't understand why he needed to work weekends. Why he was constantly hunting for clients. Why he couldn't just send a quick text back. His business seemed to consume every moment of his life, and I felt like I was competing with an endless stream of emails, calls, and meetings for his attention.

I remember one Thursday afternoon particularly clearly. I was at my desk, bored at work, mindlessly watching the clock tick toward 5pm, when I sent him a simple "How's your day going? ❤️" Three hours later, still no response. I could see he'd been online. The familiar knot of resentment formed in my stomach. How busy could he really be?

Now I know exactly how busy. These days, I'm that person – the one who takes hours, sometimes days, to respond to messages. Not because I care less about the people in my life, but because I'm building something of my own. My weekends, once spent analyzing response times and crafting the perfect replies, are now my most productive hours. The quiet time when the world slows down enough for real work to happen.

Last week, I decided to try something different. After meeting someone at a networking event, instead of exchanging Instagram handles or falling into the familiar pattern of endless texting, I suggested a phone call. The silence that followed my suggestion was deafening. "A call?" he asked, as if I'd suggested we communicate via carrier pigeon.

But here's what happened: When we did talk, the conversation flowed naturally. No crafting perfect responses. No overthinking emoji usage. Just two people getting to know each other through genuine conversation. The chemistry (or lack thereof) was immediately apparent - no week-long text exchange required.

It was during one of my working weekends that everything clicked. I was staring at my phone, feeling guilty about another unanswered message from a friend, when I realized something: We've created this expectation that being available via message 24/7 equals caring. That constant digital connection somehow equals emotional connection.

But what if we've got it completely wrong?

I started thinking about the moments when I felt most connected to someone. It wasn't during those endless text conversations that drift through the day. It was during actual phone calls. Real conversations. When you can hear someone's laugh, their excitement, their pause before answering a question that matters.

A phone call requires something texting never will: dedicated time and attention. When someone calls you, they're giving you their undivided focus. Their time. Their energy. That effort speaks volumes about their interest in connecting with you.

I've started experimenting with this in my own life. When I meet with friends now, my phone stays in my bag. They get my complete, undivided attention – the kind of presence that no amount of messaging can replicate. Yes, I might be "busy" between these meetings, but when I'm there, I'm completely there.

Looking back at my relationship, I now understand what I couldn't see then. Those perfect moments together weren't despite the quiet periods – they were possible because of them. He wasn't choosing work over me; he was working to be fully present when we were together.

These realizations have me wondering: what if we approached early dating connections differently? What if, after meeting someone for the first time, we had more options than just defaulting to endless texting? What if we could choose when we want the convenience of text and when we want the intimacy of voice?

I can hear the skepticism. Phone calls? In 2025? But think about it – what if that's exactly what we're missing? What if, in our rush to make dating more convenient, we've actually made it harder to form real connections?

To my ex, if you're reading this: I get it now. I finally understand.

To my friends who are waiting for me to reply to their messages: I'm not gone, I'm not distant, and I haven't stopped caring.

To anyone dating someone who's "really busy": Sometimes, they really are.

As I build piano piano, these questions keep circling in my mind. How do we balance the convenience of modern technology with the depth of real connection? Where's the sweet spot between always-on availability and meaningful interaction?

It might feel terrifying. It might feel liberating. It might feel like both.

Maybe that's exactly why it's worth exploring.

Dating without texting: could phone calls be the answer?

by francesca, founder