(04
She was the it–girl, academically and socially, with a secret fan club of admirers.
I was just another face in the crowd, lucky enough to share a desk with her but too shy to make eye contact.
After one particularly rough exam, she cheered me on with a smile, saying, “You’re smart and hardworking, Steve. You’ll ace it next time for sure.”
Her encouragement turned my grades around.
We both got into the same elite high school and, fatefully, ended up in the same class again.
I wanted to continue sitting next to her, but a growth spurt landed me in the back row. Seeing my
disappointment, Emily talked to the teacher about switching seats to the back with me.
Her reason was that I was strong in the sciences and she shined in the humanities–we could be study buddies.
3:31 PM
She’s Not Worthy of Being Human
The teacher gave the thumbs up.
Our academic rivalry was friendly, we took turns topping the class.
Life back then felt vibrant and full of promise, all thanks to her presence.
During our junior year, tragedy struck. My parents were killed in a car crash. Left with nothing, I was suddenly a
burden no relative wanted to shoulder.
Without hesitation, Emily convinced her parents to take me in.
They welcomed me with open arms, promising to treat me as their own.
And they kept their word, giving me a renewed sense of family.
Emily and I walked to school together, did homework together, and savored the busy yet fulfilling days.
The night we finished our SATS, Emily wanted to go stargazing. She asked me to join her.
I had been mustering the courage to hold her hand all evening but kept backing out.
She was out of my league–gorgeous and perfect. I felt I wasn’t good enough for her.
To my utter surprise, she took my hand first, her cheeks flushed as she confessed, “Steve, I’ve had a crush on you for the longest time. Do you like me?”
Her gentle voice illuminated the entire night. I was ecstatic.
“I’ve liked you too–always have!”
She hugged me first, and I held her close, fearing she might slip away if I let go.
Our long–held crushes culminated in a perfect moment.
Although college took us to different cities, our relationship only grew sweeter with distance.
Distance meant nothing to us.
I spent every penny I made from odd jobs on flights to see her, and she visited whenever she could.
At one dinner with her roommates, a girl hinted that Emily might be getting close to a guy named Matt from another department.
I brushed it off until senior year when Emily drunkenly revealed that Matt had been her confidant all along.
I didn’t fully grasp the concept of a “male confidant” at the time, thinking he was just a close buddy.
It wasn’t until Matt returned from a stint abroad last year that I realized their connection wasn’t as simple as I thought.
Emily started coming home later, constantly on her phone, and occasionally bursting into giggles at texts. She seemed utterly smitten.
She missed my birthday.
She was unreachable on our anniversary.
Despite plans to start a family, she abruptly decided against having kids, wanting to stay child–free.
I tried not to overthink it, attributing it to her demanding job. But when she finally came home, just one call from Matt could whisk her away again.
Soups I’d simmered for hours went untouched.
Movie plans were canceled last minute.
Even in bed, she’d turn away, engrossed in her phone, ignoring my calls.
I once believed your first love was supposed to be forever. Now I realize the hardest love is the one you can’t
keep.
