I dated a woman with no demands or ambitions for six months. She seemed perfect — until I realized this…
When I met Lyuda, I thought: finally. A woman with no pretensions, no demands, none of that endless “I want, I want, I want.” I’m fifty-three, she’s forty-eight. Both divorced, both tired of complicated relationships.
Lyuda worked as a sales clerk in a grocery store. The pay was modest. She lived in a rented one-room apartment on the outskirts of town. She dressed simply, barely used makeup, and never got manicures.
“Why would I?” she used to say. “It’s a waste of money. Better to spend it on something useful.”
I admired that. After my ex-wife, who spent a considerable amount on beauty salons every month, Lyuda seemed like a gift from fate.
We dated for six months, and then I slowly realized: simplicity is not always a virtue…
When I met Lyuda, I thought: finally. A woman with no airs, no demands, none of that endless “want, want, want.” I was fifty-three, she was forty-eight. Both divorced, both tired of complicated relationships.
Lyuda worked as a sales clerk in a grocery store. She earned about forty thousand rubles a month. She lived in a rented one-room apartment on the outskirts of town. She dressed simply, hardly used makeup, and never got her nails done.
“Why?” she would say. “It’s a waste of money. Better to spend it on something useful.”
I admired her. After my ex-wife, who spent twenty thousand rubles a month on beauty salons, Lyuda seemed like a gift from fate.
We dated for six months. And slowly I realized: simplicity is not always a virtue. Sometimes it is just emptiness.
The first month: relief after the storm
After the divorce, I spent a year recovering. My ex-wife had exhausted me with her demands. A new car, vacations abroad, a restaurant every week, gifts for every holiday. I worked like a madman to satisfy her wishes. And she still left me — for someone wealthier.
Lyuda was different. No demands. No complaints. No whims.
I suggested going to a restaurant — she refused:
“Why spend the money? We can eat at home.”
I wanted to give her something for her birthday — she waved it off:
“No need. I don’t need anything.”
I felt relieved. Finally, a woman who wasn’t draining my money and my nerves.
The second month: when you start noticing strange things
But gradually I began to notice: Lyuda did not just avoid making demands. She did not want anything at all.
I would ask:
“Where should we go for the weekend?”
“I don’t care.”
“Do you have any preference at all?”
“No. You decide.”
It was always like that. For every question — “I don’t care,” “you decide,” “whatever you say.”
At first I thought: that is convenient. No need to argue, sort things out, or look for compromises. But then I realized it was not convenience. It was indifference.
Lyuda truly did not care. Where to go, what to see, what to eat, how to spend time. She had no desires. None at all.
The third month: conversations about nothing
We were sitting in the kitchen one evening. I was trying to talk.
“Do you read anything?”
“No. No time.”
“Well, did you read before?”
“I read in school. Whatever we were assigned.”
“Do you watch movies?”
“Sometimes. Whatever is on TV.”
“What kind do you like?”
“Different ones. I don’t care.”
Again, “I don’t care.”
I tried to find a topic that would spark something in her. I talked about work — she nodded silently. About politics — she shrugged. About travel — she said she had never gone anywhere and did not want to.
“What do you even like at all?” I asked in despair.
She thought for a moment.
“I don’t know. I like watching TV. And sleeping.”
Watching TV and sleeping. That was it.
The fourth month: when you realize you are suffocating
I started to notice: being with Lyuda was boring. Deadly boring.
She had no interests. No hobbies. No dreams. No goals. She simply existed. Work-home, home-work. TV in the evening. Sleep at ten.
I suggested:
“Let’s sign up for dancing classes.”
“Why?”
“Well, for a change. It would be fun.”
“I’m fine as I am.”
“Maybe we could go to the theater?”
“It’s expensive. Why waste money?”
“Well, let’s at least go out of town.”
“I’ll get tired. Better to stay home.”
Stay home. Always at home. Always the same thing.
I began to suffocate. From the grayness, the routine, the predictability.
The fifth month: trying to change something
I tried to shake her out of it. I bought tickets to a theater premiere. Lyuda agreed reluctantly.
We went. The play was good, modern, with deep meaning. I watched it with real interest.
Afterward I asked:
“So, what did you think?”
“It was okay.”
“Did you like it?”
“Yes, it was okay.”
“What exactly did you like?”
She shrugged.
“Well, the actors performed well.”
Okay. Her favorite word. Everything was “okay.” Nothing was bad, but nothing was good either.
I realized: Lyuda did not know how to feel. Or did not want to. She lived in a state of minimal emotion. Nothing made her happy, but nothing upset her either.
The sixth month: the moment of truth
The last straw was my birthday. I turned fifty-four.
Lyuda came without a gift.
“But you said you didn’t need anything.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Well then, that’s good. Why waste money?”
I did not get offended. But something inside me clicked.
We sat in the kitchen, eating the cake I had bought myself. We were silent. Lyuda was looking at her phone.
And suddenly I understood: I felt bad with her. Not because she was a bad person. But because with her, everything felt empty.
No arguments — but no discussions either. No demands — but no desires. No whims — but no emotions.
She was not living. She was functioning.
Why I left
A week after my birthday, I told Lyuda that we needed to break up.
She was not surprised.
“Why?”
“Because we’re not meant to be together.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No. You did nothing wrong. That’s the problem.”
She did not understand. She shrugged.
“All right. Whatever you say.”
Even the breakup did not affect her.
We parted ways. We never spoke again.
What I understood
Two months have passed. I analyzed those six months and realized: I was wrong.
After my ex-wife, who demanded things, threw tantrums, and made scenes, it seemed to me that the ideal woman was one without complaints.
But it turned out that a woman without complaints often means a woman without desires. And a woman without desires is not a partner. She is a shadow.
What I needed was not peace. I needed life. Even with emotions, arguments, discussions. But alive.
With Lyuda, everything was calm. But it was the calm of a graveyard.
Men, have you met women without ambitions or desires? What was it like?
Women, what do you think — is simplicity a virtue or a flaw?
Honestly: is it possible to build a relationship with someone who does not care about anything?
Or maybe the hero himself is to blame — maybe he failed to see the depth behind her simplicity?