It's my fifteenth birthday when everything changes. I feel a strange mix of excitement and dread as my childhood friend, Arjun, approaches me. His smile is hesitant, a little nervous, but there's determination behind it. My friends are whispering, nudging me forward like I'm a prize waiting to be claimed.
"Hey… um, I—I like you," he says, voice trembling slightly. "I've liked you for a long time. Will you… be with me?"
I freeze. My mind races. I remember all the things I've learned in whispers—fluttering hearts, secret crushes, stolen glances—but this… this is real. The weight of his words presses against me, and I can't find an immediate answer.
My friends erupt in excitement around us. "Say yes! Come on, you know you want to!" they tease, laughter ringing like bells.
I glance at Arjun. His eyes are full of hope and something softer, almost vulnerable. I feel a pang of sympathy. I want to make him happy. But a part of me hesitates. I don't feel that spark I thought I was waiting for. He's kind, familiar, safe… but is this what I really want?
"Okay," I say softly, more because of the pressure than the desire. His face lights up, and I feel a twinge of guilt.
The days that follow are… strange. We laugh together, play outdoor games, and everyone adores us as a couple. On the surface, everything seems perfect. But inside, a hollow ache gnaws at me. He's not my type—not the person I've been secretly waiting for.
One afternoon, while walking home, he tries to hold my hand. My chest tightens. "I… I don't think I'm ready for this," I whisper, pulling my hand away gently. His face falls.
"But… I thought—" he begins, hurt clear in his eyes.
"I know. I just…" I struggle for words. "I want to be honest. I can't pretend I feel what you want me to feel."
He nods silently, the silence between us stretching unbearably. I see the disappointment in his eyes, and my heart twists. I don't want to hurt him, but I also can't betray myself.
Life shifts again when my family moves to another city three months later. Distance stretches between us, turning what little attachment I had into indifference. We chat sometimes, exchange brief messages, but I never feel the pull I imagined couples feel. Visits to my hometown are rare, and when we meet, it's like greeting a friend, not someone I love.
One rainy afternoon, while sitting by the window, I think about us. I realize I've grown. My heart isn't empty—it's just… reserved, waiting for someone who truly resonates with me. I write a message to him, careful yet firm:
"Arjun, I think it's time we stop. I've realized I need to wait for the right person, the one who is truly my type. I hope you understand. I wish you happiness."
The reply is short, almost silent: "I understand. Take care."
And just like that, a chapter of my life closes. I feel a strange mix of relief and sorrow. Relief because I stayed true to myself; sorrow because someone I cared for is now gone.
That day, I make a silent vow: I will never again be in a relationship unless it is the one. No compromise, no second-guessing, no pressure from anyone. My heart will choose. And when it does, I will recognize it instantly.
Even now, I feel the first stirrings of independence in my chest. A quiet confidence. A sense that life is bigger than fleeting crushes, small obsessions, or the expectations of others. And in that quiet, I know: the one I'm waiting for will arrive—and everything I've felt so far is merely practice for the real thing.