While searching for her old diary in the basement, she stumbled upon a forgotten box. As soon as her fingers brushed against it, she realized it was hers. A wave of bittersweet memories rushed over her as she carefully carried it to her room. Inside, she found fragments of a life long gone—photographs from her middle school days. Each photo held a moment with a boy who had once meant the world to her. She picked up one, her fingers trembling as she gazed at the image.
People often say that first love is never meant to last, that it's just a fleeting chapter in the story of life. Maybe they're right. But when I look at this photograph, I see more than just a memory. I see the boy who was my light in a world that felt dark. I see the boy who made me believe in the impossible, who made me feel like I was enough. My first love, so pure, so beautiful, so full of hope. He was everything I thought love should be.
And even though time has passed, I can't help but feel that he will always be the one who taught me what it meant to truly love. My first love... and, perhaps, my last. In his smile, I see a world of warmth I never want to forget. A love so deep, it feels like it will echo in my heart forever, no matter where life leads me.
It was my first year in middle school. Every morning, I walked to school with wounds hidden beneath my clothes, marks that no one was supposed to see. When someone asked, I would lie, saying I had fallen or gotten hurt somehow. I couldn't bear to tell the truth—that those bruises were from my father.
My classmates didn't know. They called me clumsy, making fun of me for tripping or dropping things. Sometimes, their words turned sharper, and I found myself the target of their teasing. It hurt, but I kept my head down, trying to be invisible, hoping no one would see the real reason behind my pain. It was a quiet kind of suffering, one I had learned to endure alone.
But then, everything changed when he transferred to our school. I still remember the day he walked into our class—quiet, but there was something different about him. He didn't ask questions, didn't try to get to know me at first. But somehow, he noticed. He saw the way I flinched when someone came too close, the way I tried to hide the bruises that no one else had ever paid attention to. He understood without me having to say a word.
It wasn't long before the kids who had bullied me before started again. But this time, he was there. He didn't hesitate. Without a word, he stepped forward, his gaze cold and unflinching. The teasing continued, louder than before, as they called me names and pushed me around. But he stood still, watching, until their mockery went too far. Then, with a sudden intensity, he moved. He stepped between me and them, and in a matter of moments, he fought back, knocking them away. The shock in their eyes, the way they scrambled to escape—everything about it was unreal.
But then, he didn't say a word. Not a single one. He could have said something—anything—but he didn't need to. His actions spoke louder than words ever could. He didn't try to explain, didn't shout or demand anything. Not then, not when the bullies ran off, not when I looked up at him with wide eyes, filled with gratitude and confusion.
He just stood there, his presence more powerful than any speech. And in that silence, I understood everything I needed to know.
I couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't just any laugh—it was the kind of laughter that came from a place I had almost forgotten existed, deep inside me. The sound was pure, almost childish, like a weight lifting off my chest. I looked at him, standing tall and confident, and for the first time in years, I felt like I mattered.
I remember saying with a smile, "It was really funny." And it was. The sight of him, so fierce and protective, defending me in a way no one ever had before—it was almost surreal. It was as if a new world had opened up, one where I didn't have to hide my pain anymore, where someone cared enough to fight for me.
In that moment, I realized something I hadn't allowed myself to believe before: I was worth protecting.
I wanted to thank him, to tell him how much it meant to me, but the words never came. Instead, I just smiled, the kind of smile that felt like it could light up the darkest room. And in that smile, there was something unspoken between us—a bond, a promise, a quiet understanding that, for once, I wasn't alone.
"I still remember the moment he smiled back at me—like a spark igniting something long forgotten. For the first time, I felt my heartbeat, soft and steady, like it had learned to live again. Anyone could say, 'How could she fall in love just because someone helped her? She's so fragile.' But they don't understand. It wasn't just help. It was the warmth of his gaze, the kindness that broke through my walls. It was the first time I felt something other than the cold grip of pain.
For years, my heart had been numb, suffocated by memories and loss, but in that smile, something stirred deep inside me—a hope, a flicker of light I thought I'd lost forever. And in that fleeting moment, I realized: love doesn't always come with grand gestures. Sometimes, it's in the quiet, unexpected moments. It was the first time I felt alive—truly, deeply alive. Maybe for the first time, I understood that I wasn't broken beyond repair."
She held the photo with both hands, her fingers trembling as if afraid it might slip away, like him. She pressed it against her face, the cold glass meeting her skin, and for a brief moment, it felt like he was still there. Tears welled up in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks, soaking the edges of the photo as her breath hitched.
"Why did you have to leave me?" she whispered, her voice breaking with a pain so deep, it felt like her heart was shattering all over again. "Why did you have to go... when I still needed you more than ever?" The photo in her hands seemed to tremble, a silent echo of the life that had once been, now lost to her forever.
Her chest tightened, and she closed her eyes, clutching the picture as if holding onto the memory of him could bring him back. But all that remained was emptiness, a void that no amount of tears could ever fill.
Suddenly, the sound of her brother and father arguing reached her ears—sharp, heated voices cutting through the silence. The angry words echoed in the air, their fury rising like a storm. The weight of their screams filled the space, a tension so thick it seemed to choke the air.
Rose clenched the photo tighter, her hands trembling, as if the noise was pulling her further into the chaos of the world she desperately tried to escape. The bitterness in their voices was a sharp contrast to the sorrow in her heart. She wanted to close her ears, to shut out the noise, but it drowned her, dragging her back into the painful reality she couldn't escape.
In that moment, she felt like a broken bridge between them, caught in the rift of their anger and her own grief. It was as if the world itself was falling apart around her, and all she could do was listen to the shattering of everything she once knew.