It was astonishing how swiftly time had passed. It felt as though only yesterday I had been a sixteen-year-old girl, silently watching the high school basketball star from across the gymnasium, dreaming that maybe—just maybe—he would turn and meet my gaze. And yet, somehow, I had become a twenty-five-year-old woman, carrying within me the quiet ache of a first love that never truly faded. A love for someone I had once admired so deeply… someone who had changed my life forever.
I couldn't deny it—not even to myself. I still thought about him. I still wondered where he was, how he was. Had his condition improved? Was he safe, at peace, maybe even happy?
The last time I saw him was in that psychiatric hospital, the day I made the impossible decision to stop visiting. I had walked away from him, convinced it was the only way to save us both.
But a question haunted me even now: Had he forgotten about me?
The sunlight bathed the field in golden warmth as I wandered through a flower-strewn meadow, letting the breeze play gently with the loose strands of my hair. The weather was perfect, almost idyllic. It was Sunday, and with it came the beginning of my two-week vacation—precious days of freedom I planned to savor fully.
I liked my job. I truly did. I was lucky—after my internship, I had secured a permanent position at a respected company that paid me well. But like anyone else, I needed rest. Even success could be exhausting.
In my professional life, I had achieved a steady rhythm. It was in my personal life that I felt the emptiness. When it came to love… I was a failure. A zero.
The almost-relationship with the department head had fizzled before it ever caught flame. We both sensed early on that we were utterly incompatible. He wasn't a bad man—just too dull, perhaps. I didn't crave drama or excitement every moment of the day, but chemistry… that was non-negotiable. And between us, there had been none.
Chemistry mattered. Without it, routine took over, passion burned out, and eventually, one or both partners would begin searching for something—or someone—else. At least, that was how I saw it. I understood not everyone would agree with my views, and that was fine.
I had friends who lived by a different rhythm—like Eve and her partner. They had a beautiful daughter, and even after so many years together, they still looked at each other as though they'd just fallen in love. They never married, and they had no plans to. For them, love was enough. They didn't need rings or papers to prove their devotion, and I respected that deeply. I even envied it.
Eve was fearless. She didn't care what others whispered behind her back about being an unmarried mother. She lived on her terms. She had always been like that—bold, passionate, and unapologetically herself. She had even taken up racing motorcycles after falling for her partner's bike. Now, she competed in amateur races, and I stood proudly on the sidelines whenever I could, cheering her on. Sometimes, I even had the honor of opening the event. In those moments, I felt alive—invincible.
I genuinely liked my life. I had built something stable, something meaningful. But I would be lying if I said it was enough. Deep down, I still longed for someone to share it with. Someone who would make me feel whole. Someone who would make me finally believe that all my dreams had come true.
And I couldn't deny it… I still hoped that person might be him.
The boy I had loved so fiercely.
The one I had never been able to forget.