Situationships: Because Commitment Doesn’t Trend Well

Why ambiguity feels safer than honesty — and hotter than clarity ! !

Nobody in urban India sets out saying, “I’d like a confusing emotional arrangement with unclear boundaries and an expiry date I’ll pretend not to notice.”

It just happens. Somewhere between late-night cab rides, half-shared cigarettes, and conversations that get deep only after the third drink.

You meet someone. Maybe through an app, maybe through mutuals, maybe at a house party where everyone pretends they’re not judging each other’s politics and dating history. The chemistry is real. The attraction undeniable. The vibe? Effortlessly modern. So modern, in fact, that nobody wants to name what’s happening — because naming things feels… old-school. Almost regressive.

Instead, we let it breathe.

We let it exist.

We text daily, but not predictably. Predictability implies intention.

We meet often, but not ritually. Rituals imply priority.

We share playlists, trauma anecdotes, and beds — but asking “where is this going?” feels like crossing an unspoken line.

In today’s dating culture, clarity isn’t romantic.

It’s confrontational.

Ambiguity, however, is seductive.

Ambiguity lets you belong without commitment.

It allows intimacy without accountability.

It gives you the illusion of connection while preserving the right to disappear.

And this is especially convenient in cities where everyone is “figuring things out” — careers, identities, families, orientations, expectations. Where people are negotiating not just attraction, but also social risk, emotional safety, and the quiet calculations of who knows whom.

For some, dating still involves closets — obvious or subtle.

For others, it’s about navigating families that don’t ask questions as long as nothing becomes “serious”.

For many, it’s about freedom that exists socially but not emotionally.

So we hover.

We orbit each other’s lives without landing.

The situationship thrives here because it asks for nothing concrete. It doesn’t demand explanations to parents, friends, or oneself. It allows desire without definition — and definition, in urban India, still comes with consequences.

Everyone involved usually knows what’s happening.

One person is playing it cool.

The other is playing along.

We’ve perfected emotional choreography. Acting detached while memorising response times. Claiming independence while subconsciously adjusting plans around someone who insists on calling it casual. Saying “I’m not looking for anything serious” with the same mouth that seeks familiarity, comfort, and exclusivity — just not responsibility.

Honesty is risky because it forces reality into the room.

Clarity demands an answer.

Once you articulate what you want, the other person is allowed to say they can’t give it — and that’s a rejection we’ve been trained to avoid at all costs.

So we don’t ask.

We don’t define.

We let intimacy happen and call it organic.

In queer circles, this doesn’t vanish — it just gains better vocabulary. We call it fluidity, exploration, liberation. All valid ideas. But liberation without emotional literacy quickly becomes another way to opt out of accountability.

Access has increased. Courage hasn’t.

Apps make connection instant, but replaceability even faster. There’s always another profile, another chat, another maybe. So instead of dealing with discomfort, we swipe past it.

Ambiguity becomes a shield.

A way to leave clean.

A way to say, “I never promised anything,” while conveniently forgetting how much was implied.

And yes, technically, that’s true.

But emotional damage doesn’t operate on technicalities.

Situationships survive because detachment is mistaken for maturity. Because wanting clarity is framed as insecurity. Because being “low maintenance” is praised more than being honest.

We’ve created a culture where expressing desire feels embarrassing, but pretending indifference feels powerful. Where boundaries are valid, but also sometimes weaponised to avoid basic decency.

We don’t ghost cruelly. We ghost politely.

We fade out instead of ending things.

We disappear while keeping the door ajar — just in case loneliness returns.

And it does. Often.

Because ambiguity is exciting at first, but it doesn’t age well.

At some point, everyone — regardless of gender, sexuality, or how evolved their dating vocabulary is — gets tired of guessing. Tired of decoding tone. Tired of wondering whether intimacy means something or nothing.

Clarity isn’t boring.

It’s just inconvenient.

And maybe that’s why situationships are everywhere. Not because people don’t want connection — but because they want it without the discomfort, courage, and consequences that real connection demands.

Aniket Kumthekar