Most people in limerence can recall the exact moment it hit. A smile across the room. A laugh that lingered too long. A text that shouldn’t have felt like anything but somehow felt like everything.
That’s Stage One.
We like to believe affairs are plotted, deliberate things. But limerence doesn’t ask for planning. It sneaks in through the cracks. Through mild discontent. A low-grade loneliness. A sense that something—anything—needs to change. Then someone new offers attention, and the world tilts. Not because that person is extraordinary. But because the feeling is.