Young Writers Society

I remember when it first happened, as clear as day. I was with a friend; we were watching a movie in school. Then, I saw you, asleep. Everything after, I remember it faintly, like a slipping memory. I was mesmerised, maybe I was exaggerating back then, maybe I still am, but was it love at first sight? I was fortunate enough to have common friends with you. Was it really fortunate, though? Sitting here, trying to remember what had happened, as if I don’t have every single feeling I had for you written down in a notebook I picked up after a year of leaving it to rot under my table. I don’t want to open it; I don’t want to resurface and reminisce about any feelings or read a perspective so blinded by rose-coloured glasses, yet I’m still as biased as ever. No matter what happened, it was mine. It was my story to tell, my view on us. Did it even affect you as strongly and as constantly as it does me? I don’t think so. We’re on civil terms. Of course, that doesn’t mean we’re friends; we don’t talk, we’re just silent. I occasionally glance at your profile and the chats, wondering if I should say something, but for what reason? The truth was, I had no reason at all. Yet I’m not the dumb 15-year-old I once was; I’m not falling for this impulse, this emotional outburst.

I remember the months leading up to us officially dating, still vividly coming like echoes in an empty church, like drops of watercolours on a wet surface. A friend had told me to ignore you for two weeks, saying it was to test if you really liked me. I felt provoked, egged on to do it, so I did, for a week. I couldn’t finish the entire two weeks, as someone told me about how you felt, and that’s when I knew you did like me, somewhat. So it continued, us talking, it felt like a never-ending blissful moment, at least for me. One time, you told me you’d be leaving the country, and my heart actually felt like it was breaking. You asked me how I’d be. My ego, my pride, of course, I didn’t want you to think I was weak, right? I’ve reassured you that I’d be okay, but right after that, I started blasting sad songs and sobbing my heart out. It was a typical thing for a young teenager to do, and it still is for me today. I don’t know, but I believe it was at that moment that I realised I was in too deep. I liked you. No one knew, not a single person, not even you, knew how badly I wanted to spend time with you, even in silence. I wanted to show you I care, but you had different plans, to stay home, and I respected that, I think. I don’t know how to put it into words, properly, but I just ached to be in your presence for hours at a time.

Then it hit, on a fateful March of 2020. Everything came crashing down, but at least it meant I could spend more time with you, right? Was it worth it? I don’t know. We continued talking, and I don’t even remember if I remember everything right anymore; it’s just fragments in my mind of special memories I can barely hang onto.

Was it June, when we were finally exclusively each other’s? I know the relationship itself lasted only about three months, so maybe it was.

I love you. As butterflies flew into my stomach, they themselves hurled vomit. It was surreal; someone actually liked me back. Unbelievable, it was. Someone’s son likes me; hell, the boy loved me.

I love you. Sounds of bells gong, wedding bells, they were. I had fallen in love; I was smitten— it was beautiful. The best I could describe it is a meadow of flowers discovered untouched by modern society, left only to Mother Nature to tend to.

I love you. I fell in love, for the first time, and it was with someone as equally in love with me as I was with him, I think.

Do you remember the name we gave our hypothetical child? One gender-neutral name that we had hoped would be a boy. You said you liked my name because it was rare, an uncommon name compared to yours. But I don’t think I ever told you that I love your name.

Nevertheless, I trusted my gut instincts, which were sometimes wrong, though. Although it was okay for me, let me be blinded by love, at least just this once.

Water.

Then, just like bliss, it ended as quickly as it came. We’d go weeks without talking, and when we did, we’d end up fighting and revert to no contact. I’d cry on my bed, cooped up, hands shaking, sometimes I’d even hold my tummy and talk to it as if I’m already pregnant with our kid. Telling it that you’re being mean, and I just wanna love you, that I never wanna fight again. My brother likes you. I never got to meet your sister; we’re both the eldest siblings to broken families, yet yours seems better in comparison to mine. But it’s in poor taste for me to compare. Was it just our nature, as young kids in love? No, it wasn’t. I poorly believe it’s because of the pandemic, staying home, not seeing each other in person. I’ve made my peace with knowing that years ago, after we broke up. I can barely recall anything from that time; all I knew was that there was someone else before me, and you told me to practice singing as she was a good singer. I did. I practised. You told me to get exercise since it’s healthy, like one of your classmates did, so I didn’t. I didn’t exercise. I did before, but I just thought you wanted me skinnier, so I stopped eating. But all of it happened before we broke up. But what I can remember as clear as day was us, constantly telling each other “I love yous”, which to me seemed real, or were they baseless emotions just to fill our heads and distract us from reality? I breathe deep.

I did all of that after we broke up. I got to work. I stopped talking to you. I started recording myself, listening to it, and figuring out what my voice did wrong. I stopped eating, and I didn’t sleep for 2 days right after we broke up. I was mourning a love that’s been dead; it was useless to visit soil that never cultivated any crops, no matter how much watering I could ever do. And maybe you visited the soil when I wasn’t there, maybe you watered it too, but it will never grow if we don’t visit it together, and we may never will.

I have never loved anyone as I’ve loved you. I’ve never been treated with such niceness and love as you have, and maybe it’s because we were just two kids who liked each other and liked that fact. I look for you in the love that’s given to me, lust disguised as love. I look for you behind the prescription glasses of the guys I’ve been with. I look for the heartache you gave me when I inflict pain on myself through my poor decisions in life. Nothing compares. Nothing ever will. Through all that, I messaged you a year after we broke up, hoping to apologise, hoping to reconcile.

We reconciled, we’re civil, it was enough for me, it still is, I think. We talked, we just chatted, you gossiped, I listened. That’s when I realised we became opposites of each other, or so I believe. You, in your extroverted nature, and I, quiet and reserved. I keep to myself, but you respected me somehow. Said something about me being a part of you, developing a person, I respond with the same sentiments, but it was different for me. I suffered, and in suffering, I had to grow up and learn on my own. I couldn’t rely on a therapist; I relied only on myself and sheer luck. I don’t know how it happened with you. I didn’t pry; it’s a private thing. We talked again, this time a year or two later,

Was our relationship real? If I were to deny this, would it invalidate my feelings? Did that mean I’d have had a different first love? My thoughts recur because I’ve had these questions before, these what-ifs. Did you ever love me? Was I the only one watering the soil?

What if we had met again? I had an instance where I thought I saw you, and my heart pounded against my chest; I didn’t know what to do. It seems you’ve had that moment too. Yet you remembered my glasses frames were different, how could you have known, though? You only know me from 3 years ago.

I’d probably ignore you, is what I replied. I lied, halfheartedly. I actually don’t know what I would do if I saw you again; maybe that’s why I’m trying to figure it out by hoping to see you again. Would we cross paths? Would we just see each other from a distance? Would you still feel that pounding on your chest? I know I wouldn’t, I’d have tears welling up in my eyes. I now wear contact lenses, and I rarely wear my glasses. I changed my frames, too, but you know that.

Do you ever miss me sometimes? Wondered how things would be if we had never broken up or if the pandemic had never happened. I think we would still break up, but on more digestible reasons. Things I’d expect us to break up about. In reality, we expected it to happen, but I was woefully unprepared for it. You’ve warned me about it, told me what would happen. I still held on, for the tiniest string of hope, only because I believe I did love you, that what we had was real, as it felt like it was to me.

It was love to me.