I like her. Or, more accurately, I think I do. For years, I've held back, a self-imposed exile from a truth too inconvenient to face. No, I've stood a million steps behind her, a silent observer, yearning for the day I'd grow the guts to move those steps. She has always been the girl in my mind, a constant presence, a quiet hum beneath the surface of my life. Is it enough to call it love? I don't know. My mind is a tangled knot of confusion because my life is already... set. Bound. Maybe it's time I finally clean out that sacred, dusty place in my heart I've been keeping for her. But how? How can I possibly forget her?
The one who said that a person does not forget their first love was the wisest soul to ever walk this earth. Their words echo in the quiet chambers of my mind, a stark reminder of a truth I've long tried to deny. I have always kept my heart under tight constraints, locked away, but it's times like this—these late, creeping evenings—that the walls crumble. I've been like this since that time, since she entered my world and then left it, and I can't seem to recover, not even after years of therapy. Most people in my life just accepted this little, guarded part of me, this quiet melancholy, and I had never told anybody the real reason behind it. It was too raw, too foolish.
I left the house, the cool evening air a sharp contrast to the heat in my chest. With the image of a brown-haired lady with the most beautiful eyes swirling in my mind, I set out for the only thing that could truly calm me: a long, punishing walk. My feet hit the pavement rhythmically, each step a dull thud against the concrete, a desperate attempt to outpace the turmoil within. After walking for an hour, my smartwatch proudly declared I'd covered six kilometers. I was about to stop for a breather, my lungs burning, when my breath got caught in my throat. My heart, already a frantic drum, stumbled, then hammered against my ribs.
Not what, but who.
Her.
Brown hair, the color of aged mahogany, rich and deep, yet with the subtle hues only time brings, danced in the wind to nature's choreography. With each stride, the strands tumbled, catching the fading daylight in waves. That chestnut brown hair fell in loose waves down her back, a living cascade, reflecting the last rays of the sun with every movement. She was jogging, her form fluid and graceful, as if she was a dream, a fairytale come alive, stepping right out of the pages of one of my romance novels.
My poor heart almost stopped entirely. My body felt an uncontrollable urge, a primal pull, to run beside her, just like we used to when we were young, years ago. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a spark of that old, reckless energy.
James, look at yourself, a stern, familiar voice in my head, the voice of reason, snapped. You are getting old. You can't allow a childhood dream to crawl back into your life. You have commitments. A life you built.
But she is right there! another voice, softer, more desperate, countered. After a decade, I got to see her again, in real life. Not a memory, not a phantom. Her.
I should at least say hi, the desperate voice whispered, a fragile hope.
No, you can't do that, remember? the stern voice cut in, sharp as a whip. Think of your obligations. Think of the life you built, however imperfectly.
It's not like I'm asking for her hand in marriage, I argued internally, a pathetic attempt at self-deception.
Ha. Don't make me laugh, the stern voice scoffed, laced with bitter wisdom. You know more than anybody else that it is not going to be that easy. Let her be. This is probably the last time you will be seeing her. Don't ruin it. Don't ruin yourself.
Why? I screamed inwardly, a silent, agonizing plea. Why could I erase you from my mind, but my heart would never let me forget? For it to all come back like a strong wave deep in the ocean, a rogue current to take my ship to the death of the abyss.
I continued with my inward conversation, a silent battle raging, whilst she passed me, a fleeting vision. Her presence, so close, yet so utterly unattainable, was a cruel tease. I crossed over to the other side of the street, my thoughts sinking into a deep sadness, doubt creeping into my choice of not taking the chance again. The path home stretched out, long and dark, mirroring the path ahead of me.
But alas, age had done her no harm. Matter of fact, she had blossomed. I remembered her eyes, pupils flecked with gold like beach pebbles, now sparkling with life.
Tonight shall be a long night, a depressing one indeed. Or it shall be a happy one. Who knows? For my mind clearly didn't. At that moment, the cold weight of a golden ring came to my mind, a stark, unwelcome anchor, and I started hurrying home, away from the ghost of a past that refused to stay buried.