There’s a very particular look people give you when you say you’re still single in your twenties and that you have standards. It’s a strange cocktail of sympathy and confusion, as if you’ve got a rare condition that could be cured if only you’d agree to go out with Steve from accounting because “he’s nice” and “owns a dog”. You can almost hear the unspoken sentiment: “Poor girl, still waiting for Prince Charming while all the good ones are gone.”

I have never had sex. Not because I’m immune to desire or uninterested in what all the fuss is about, but because I’ve chosen to wait. And in a world where restraint is often confused with repression, that decision tends to draw awkward silences, curious looks, or patronising smiles. Still, I hold it quietly and confidently, not as a badge of honour, but as a private conviction. Yet here I am, writing about sex.

There’s a peculiar kind of emotional limbo you find yourself in when the idea of reaching out to an ex crosses your mind, not because something was toxic or bitter, but simply because a small, wistful part of you wonders: What if? Recently, I was standing right on that ledge. No drama, no anger, just a quiet curiosity about a past connection that, in a parallel universe, might have been the “forever” kind of thing.

I won’t lie to you, there was a time I couldn’t walk past a couple in matching gym outfits without muttering “may the odds be ever in your favour” under my breath. It wasn’t bitterness. Okay, maybe a little. But mostly, it was longing dressed in sarcasm. The kind of longing that curls up beside you at night, not to keep you warm, but to remind you your mum’s already hinted (twice) that you’re “not getting any younger”.

There’s a quiet kind of power in a woman whose life doesn’t hinge on anyone else’s presence, whose world remains rich and full, rain or shine, solo or partnered. You are that woman. You wake up each morning and your purpose is served, your ambitions are unfolding, your joys are yours. A man might enter your narrative, but he doesn’t rewrite your story. You’re not waiting for someone to shape you, complete you or fill any gaps, because you’re already whole. That’s the essence of being the upgrade.