I was one of those who stepped into work life early, right after finishing school. At 20, I was mature beyond my years—fun, warm-hearted, nurturing, and fiercely protective. Years later, I would realize how heavy that role had been.
In a small office, I was learning everything from the ground up with my boss—someone I affectionately called "big sister." I lived the truth behind the phrase "theory and practice are never the same" more times than I can count.
Then one day, I received an MMS on my phone. It was from you. You introduced yourself and invited me to join a social platform you were using. That was the moment I created my first email address and took my first steps into the digital world—because of you.
The platform was simple but vibrant. You could add friends, see who viewed your profile, what they were reading, what they liked. And so, we started to learn little things about each other.
"How was your day?"
"What do you do for work?"
"Do you still live with your family?"
Sweet, simple questions that slowly built a connection.
With you, I always played the good girl.
How could I ever find someone like you again? Handsome, successful, grounded. You were like the classic manga alpha male.
And I thought, "This kind of luck doesn't come twice. God doesn't hand out second chances that easily."
We chose a time and place for our first meeting—our mutual spot by the sea. Our hometowns were too small, too familiar; we didn't want to bump into anyone we knew. That's always the risk in small towns.
We met at a seaside café. We talked for hours—three or maybe four—and time slipped right past us. When it was time to leave, you held my hand and walked me to the bus terminal.
I guess that was the moment we became official, wasn't it?
Funny thing is, every guy I ever dated before had asked me out directly—except you.
And now, I find myself eagerly waiting for our second date. Winter's coming.
Maybe it's best we don't wait too long.