# **Mitchell Moses : “When I First Met Bri Gardoni…”**
*By Mitchell Moses (as told to a ghostwriter)*
—
**When I first met Bri Gardoni, I’ll be honest—I didn’t think too much of it.**
She wasn’t what I expected—not at all. At that time in my life, everything revolved around **music**, training, and **NRL football**. My world was fast-paced, scheduled down to the minute. Romance? Love? That wasn’t even on the radar. I was focused—on the **game**, on performance, on winning. I didn’t have time for distractions, especially not the kind that make you question your own pace, your own direction.
But Bri—she walked into my life like a different kind of **melody**.
Not loud, not flamboyant, just… **real**.
—
## **The First Encounter**
I remember it like it happened yesterday. We were at a post-match gathering—nothing wild, just a few teammates, some music, casual drinks. She wasn’t trying to stand out. No attention-seeking energy. No overdone look. She was talking to someone in the corner, probably laughing at a joke I never heard.
I don’t know what drew me to her—maybe it was her calmness in a room full of noise. Maybe it was that she wasn’t impressed by the jerseys, the status, the NRL spotlight. She was just being herself.
Later that night, I walked over, expecting small talk. But our conversation went deeper than expected. She asked questions—not about my stats or the season, but about who I was *off* the field. What I cared about. What scared me.
I wasn’t used to that. I didn’t even know how to answer.
—
## **Early Days: Caught Off Guard**
In the beginning, I was cautious. Detached, even. I was used to women being into the *idea* of me—the athlete, the professional, the public figure. But Bri? She wasn’t trying to be impressed. She challenged me. She had opinions, perspectives. She wasn’t afraid to call me out or bring me back down when my ego inflated.
She was studying psychology at the time—made sense. She had this way of seeing through the surface. It rattled me. I had never felt so seen and so exposed at the same time.
We started spending more time together. At first it was low-key: cafes, late-night walks, early morning texts that turned into midday phone calls. We shared playlists. She introduced me to indie artists I’d never heard of. I told her about my music side—beats I’d been working on quietly, the stuff I never really showed anyone.
She listened. Properly listened. I hadn’t realized how much I needed that.
—
## **Clashing Worlds**
But our worlds were so different.
I was in the middle of my NRL career—sponsorship meetings, away games, media obligations. She was grounded, academic, curious about everything outside the sports bubble. She never tried to fit into the scene. She wasn’t posting pictures of us to build clout. In fact, she rarely posted at all. That should have made it easier, but it didn’t.
I started to feel the tension between the life I was living and the one I was starting to want.
My schedule was relentless. Training six days a week, traveling on the seventh. I’d miss important dates—her exams, her sister’s birthday, sometimes even the simple things like a dinner we had planned. She never made a scene, but I could feel the quiet hurt in her voice.
And I was too caught up to slow down.
—
## **Moments I’ll Never Forget**
There were moments though—tiny ones—that still replay in my mind like slow-motion highlights.
The time she came to my game in the pouring rain, soaked through, cheering from the stands with a smile that didn’t fade even as the storm drenched her.
The nights she’d fall asleep on the couch while I worked on beats, headphones on, occasionally glancing over and mouthing “that one’s good.”
The morning we sat on the roof of her apartment, watching the sun rise in silence, both of us knowing we’d have to go back to our separate chaos.
She made me feel safe in a way I never expected.
And that scared the hell out of me.
—
## **Cracks in the Armor**
As the months passed, the weight of everything started pressing down harder.
The season took a toll—physically and mentally. Injuries, media criticism, pressure to perform. I started to shut down emotionally, the way athletes sometimes do when everything feels like too much.
I’d snap over nothing. Get distant. Retreat into my own head.
And Bri? She tried. She really did. She asked the right questions, gave me space when I needed it, showed up even when I didn’t ask. But after a while, I could see the confusion in her eyes—*Why won’t you let me in?*
And the truth is—I didn’t know how.
In my world, vulnerability is risky. You play hurt. You don’t talk about what’s going on inside. You power through. That mindset helps you survive the game but it kills relationships.
—
## **The Breaking Point**
It wasn’t one fight. There was no explosive ending, no betrayal or scandal. It was more like a slow unraveling.
Missed calls turned into shorter texts. Dinners got canceled. We stopped sharing music.
The last time I saw her, we sat across from each other at a café. She looked tired, but not angry. Just… resigned.
> “I can’t keep reaching for someone who’s not reaching back,” she said quietly.
And I had no argument. I just sat there, looking at my hands, realizing what I was about to lose and not knowing how to stop it.
We hugged goodbye, and that was it.
No final plea. No chasing each other to the airport. Just silence.
—
## **Aftermath: Empty Rooms and Loud Thoughts**
I thought I’d bounce back. That I’d pour everything into footy and forget about it. But something was different. My form dipped. My mind wandered in games. I found myself going through the motions, showing up physically but not mentally.
Teammates noticed. Coaches noticed. I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t sure who “myself” even was anymore.
At night, I’d replay old voicemails. Scroll through her playlists. Wonder if she’d moved on. Wonder if she missed me. Wonder if I’d been so focused on the game that I lost the one person who ever actually saw me beyond the scoreboard.
I was surrounded by noise—interviews, fans, analysts—but I’d never felt more alone.
—
## **What I Learned from Loving Bri**
Looking back, I realize Bri wasn’t just a girlfriend. She was a mirror. She showed me what I was running from—my fear of being known, of slowing down, of opening up.
She taught me the value of stillness in a world obsessed with movement. She taught me how to listen. How to speak from the heart. How to show up for someone in ways that don’t show on highlight reels.
And maybe the timing was wrong. Maybe I wasn’t ready. Or maybe, like so many good things, it came into my life to teach me something—not to stay, but to shape me.
—
## **If I Could Tell Her Anything**
If I could talk to Bri today, I’d say:
Thank you.
For showing me what real connection looks like.
For staying true to yourself even when I was losing grip on who I was.
For being the melody in a world that often feels like noise.
I’d tell her I’ve changed. That I’m learning how to be better—not just for someone else, but for myself. I’d tell her that I carry pieces of her with me still. Not out of regret, but gratitude.
—
## **Moving Forward**
I don’t know if love like that comes around twice.
Maybe it doesn’t.
But I do know this: I’m not the same man I was when we met.
I’ve had to rebuild—on the field, yes, but off it too. I’ve had to learn that success means nothing if you can’t share it. That strength isn’t just about power—it’s about honesty. Vulnerability. Presence.
These days, I’m trying to slow down more. Trying to stay off my phone during dinner. Trying to really listen when someone’s talking. Trying to love people not just when it’s easy, but when it’s inconvenient. Hard. Quiet.
—
## **Final Whistle**
Love, like sport, is unforgiving when you take your eye off the ball.
One bad read, one missed step—and it’s gone.
But sometimes, if you’re lucky, it leaves behind something more lasting than the relationship itself. A lesson. A light. A better version of yourself.
That’s what Bri Gardoni was to me.
And I hope, wherever she is, she knows that—even if I didn’t say it enough then.
—
**Sometimes the hardest games aren’t played on the field. They’re played inside your heart. And when you lose, you don’t get a rematch. You just try to carry the lessons into the next season.**
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