I didn't realize that fiftenn would be the year everything shifted.
At the time, it just felt like another school dance. Another excuse for glittery decorations in the gym and awkward slow songs no one wanted to admit they liked.
Ava had been the most excited, of course.
"You're wearing the blue one," she'd declared two weeks before the dance, stading in my bedroom like a fashion commander. "It makes your eyes look unfairly pretty."
"It's just a dress," I'd argued.
"It's a weapon," she corrected.
On the night of the dance, the school gym barely looked like itself. Streamers hung fom the basketball hops. Fairy lights were wrapped clumsily around railings. The air smelled like cheap perfume and fizzy punch.
I remember standing near the wall, smoothing down the skirt of my blue dress, wishing I'd chosen something less noticeable.
That's when I saw him.
Ryan.
He was standing near the entrance with a few boys from our class, pretending to laugh at something one of them said. But he wasn't really listening.
He was looking at me.
Not casually.
Not the way friends look at each other across the room.
His gaze held for a second too long.
Then he looked away quickly, running a hand through his hair like he was caught doing something he shouldn't.
My stomach flipped.
I walked over because that's what I always did. I gravitated toward him without thinking.
"Hi," I said.
He blinked like he'd just come back from somewhere far away. "Hi."
"You look...." His voice trailed off.
"Like I hate this?" I offered.
He shook his head slowly. "No. You look-"
He stopped again.
"What?" I pressed, suddenly aware of the heat rising to my cheeks.
He swallowed. "You look nice."
Nice.
It shouldn't have mattered. But the way he said it did.
Soft. Careful. Almost reverent.
A slow song started playing - one of those ones that makes everyone groan but secretly hope someone asks them to dance.
Ryan shifted his weight. "Do you, um...."
I waited.
"Do you want to dance?" he finished, quickly, like ripping off a plaster.
I hesistated only for a second.
"Okay."
The gym felt smaller as we walked to the center. My heart was beating loudly, and I was suddenly aware of everything - the warmth of his hand when he placed it gently at my waist, the way his fingers curled alightly like he was afraid to hold too tight.
We'd never stood that close before.
Not like that.
His other hand held mine, and I noticed It was slightly shaky.
"You're nervous," I whispered.
"I'm not," he lied.
I smiled faintly.
We swayed awkwardly at first. Too stiff. Too aware.
Then gradually, it became easier. Natural. Like we'd always been meant to stand that way.
"You didn't come with anyone?" he asked.
"No. Did you?"
He shook his head.
There was something unsaid hanging between us.
The music softened.
"Zoey," he started.
My breath caught.
His voice sounded different. Lower. Serious.
"Yeah?"
He looked down at me, really looked at me. And for a moment, everything else disappeared - the music, the chatter, the lights.
"There's something I've been meaning to tell you."
My heart stopped.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
Before he could continue, someone bumped into him from behind, laughing loudly, breaking the moment.
Ryan stepped back automatically.
The spell shattered.
We both looked around, suddenly aware of the room again.
He ran a hand through his hair. "It's stupid."
"It's not," I said quickly.
He gave me a small smile. "I just— forget it."
The song ended.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
Later that night, Ava cornered me near the punch table.
"What did he say?" she demanded.
"Nothing."
She narrowed her eyes. "Zoey."
"He was going to tell me something," I admitted quietly. "But he didn't."
Ava glanced across the gym at Ryan, who was staring at us like he wanted to walk over but didn't know how.
"He chickened out," she muttered.
"From what?"
She looked at me like I was the most oblivious person alive.
"From telling you he's in love with you."
I'd laughed then.
But not because it was funny.
Because it scared me.
That night, lying in bed, I replayed the way he'd looked at me. The way his voice had changed when he said my name.
There had been something there.
Something bigger than friendship.
But neither of us had been brave enough.
Now, standing under the oak tree years later, with Manchester looming closer every day, the memory felt heavier.
Because maybe fifteen had been our first chance.
And maybe this was our last.
He had almost told me once. And this time, I wasn't sure we'd get another almost.