The Promise
Love wasn't something I was searching for. Not after what happened before. At fourteen, I had already learned what heartbreak felt like, how betrayal could leave scars too deep for someone my age. My ex had cheated, and ever since, I locked my heart away. I didn't want to fall again. I wasn't ready to trust again.
But Henry was different. He wasn't just another boy on Facebook. He was patient, kind, and relentless in the softest way. Every joke he cracked, every late-night conversation we shared—it chipped away at the walls I had built around myself.
Then one evening, he said something that silenced me.
"Girls keep rejecting boys," he told me, "but they don't know who's actually going to love and take care of them for real."
His words hit me harder than I expected. I stared at the screen, replaying them over and over in my head. Could it be that I was pushing away someone who truly cared? Could Henry be the one who would prove love wasn't just pain and disappointment?
I thought about it for days. About the way he treated me, about how careful he was with my feelings. He was eighteen, older, yes, but not reckless. He promised never to take advantage of me, never to break the trust I was struggling to give him. He said he would wait for me, for us, until the time was right.
And so, with a trembling heart, I made my decision.
I gave Henry a chance.
It was more than just saying yes—it was opening a door I swore I had locked forever. It was allowing myself to hope, to dream, to believe in love again.
Our relationship began in secret, hidden in messages and whispered confessions, but in my heart, it felt as real as anything I'd ever known. Long-distance or not, young or not in, Henry had become my promise.