LOVE WAS NEVER SAFE

CHAPTER 1: BLUR; THE BEGINNING At eleven, love does not arrive with wisdom. It does not know, nor does it ask for permission, it simply appears- quietly, carelessly- disguised as a smile that lingers too long or a face you suddenly notice as if it had always been there. At that age, I thought love was simple. It was the boy next door- the one I had never really paid attention to before, the one whose presence only became real to me at a random day when something about him felt different. Familiar, yet new at the same time. I don't even know what changed. Maybe it was the way time aligned that day, or maybe I had just grown old enough to finally see what had always been there. But suddenly, he wasn't just my neighbor anymore. He was something my mind refused to ignore. People would say, "that's not love, you're too young." But when you're eleven, you don't listen. You believe what you feel is already the deepest truth you'll ever know. And so, I called it love. I didn't know then that what I was feeling was only the beginning of a story I hadn't learned how to read yet. That not every smile means forever. That not every attention means care. And that sometimes, what feels like love is only the mind learning how to attach itself too quickly. This is where it began for me- not with certainty, but with assumption, Not with understanding, but with emotion I couldn't yet name. And I would carry that version of love with me longer than I should have. Because love, I would later learn, was never safe as I thought it was. Before I understood love, I understood solitude. My life wasn't loud or complicated- it was quiet in a way that made me believe I didn't need anyone else complete it. I got used to my own company, my own thoughts, my own way of surviving days that didn't ask much from me. Then my first relationship came like a change I didn't prepare for. Not dramatic. Not perfect. Just... Unexpected. And that was the beginning of everything I thought I understood being questioned. I was still too young to understand what live meant, or even what it was supposed to feel like. At that time, love was just a word people used in movies, songs and stories that felt far away from reality. Something beautiful... But not something I thought would ever define me. Then there was that day. I saw him. I don't even know what made me notice him first- maybe it was the way he stood or the quiet confidence in how he carried himself. Maybe it was just the way he looked without trying too hard to be seen. But u remember thinking he was... Different. Light skin. Calm presence. A kind of appearance that made it hard to look away once you had already noticed him. And for some reason I didn't understand then, I liked how he looked, Not just "liked" in a passing way- but in a way that stayed longer than it should have. I told myself it meant nothing. I told myself I was too young to even think deeply about things like that. That it was just a moment, just a face, just a passing thought. But even then, something inside me had already started paying attention. I didn't meet him in a way that felt important at first. It was ordinary- the kind of moment your mind doesn't save because it doesn't seem like it will matter later. Just another day, another place, another face in a crowd I didn't think twice about. But something about him didn't stay ordinary for long. After that, I told myself it didn't matter. That it was just a passing moment... just a face I happened to notice... just a thought that would eventually fade away like everything else. But it didn't fade. It stayed. Quietly at fist- like something I could ignore if i tried hard enough. Then slowly, it became part of my thoughts without asking for permission. Even when I was busy. Even when I was laughing with other people. Even when I told myself love wasn't something I needed to think about... I still found my mind going back to him. I wanted him to notice me, even though I never said it out loud. I didn't understand what that feeling meant back then. I just knew it made my chest feel different whenever I saw him or head his name. And maybe that was the first time I started learning what it meant to want someone's attention without knowing how else to ask for it. At that little age of eleven I was, I did something i still don't fully know how to explain. I wrote him a letter. At today's day and age writing letters to a guy is CRINGE. I wrote him a letter, it wasn't perfect... in fact, it was probably messy, emotional in a way only a child can be without fully understanding it. But in that moment, it felt important. Like i was putting something I couldn't say into words on paper instead. And I gave it to him. Just like that. But the moment it left my hands. something in me changed. It suddenly felt too real. Too embarrassing I'd say. Too exposed. Too desperate. I don't think I was ready for what it meant to be seen like that- not in the way I had written, I still wanted it to be a crush. Still wanted to admire him from afar. So I asked for it back. Not because i stopped feeling what I felt... but because I didn't know how to carry it anymore. It felt easier to call it ''Cringe'' than to admit I had meant every word in my own way. And maybe that was the first time I learned how quickly feelings can become something you hide instead of something you show. After I gave him the letter, something in me panicked. It wasn't fear at first- it was realization. Like I had done something I didn't fully think through. I gave an excuse to retrieve the letter and it was really ridiculous, and I didn't care at that time. I told him it wasn't really meant like that... that it was actually a school assignment. I said our English teacher had asked us to write a letter to someone- anyone- like a composition exercise, something about expressing feelings on paper. It sounded believable enough. At least, I hoped it did. And somehow, it worked. But deep down, I thought of if he had already read the letter. I didn't know what i expected after that. Maybe that he would forget about it. Maybe that it would just disappear that easily. Because one day, When i returned from school, I saw him. He was waiting. Not outside. Not far away. He was there- close enough that I had no space to pretend I didn't see him. ________________________________________________________________________________ And then he spoke. He told me he had read the letter. The words weren't harsh, but they carried something heavier than I expected. Like honesty I wasn't ready for. It sounded like a threat, Like a warning, I was scared and started to question myself on if I'm ready for whatever he was about to say, He said he didn't think things like this would work out between us. That if we ever tried something, it wouldn't last. He said he wasn't the kind of person who stayed in simple things. People always said he was a ''Bad Boy'', but I was kinda ready to start something with him, at least the eleven year old me. People always say he's a bad boy- not in a childish way, but in a way that meant he had already lived a little different from others his age. He was 14 or 15 thereabout. Not just an ordinary boy you ignore in a crowd. Someone who had already learned things I hadn't even thought about yet. ________________________________________________________________________________ I remember just standing there, listening. Not because I didn't have anything to say... but because I didn't know how to respond to something I had only imagined in silence until that moment. And for the first time, I started to wonder if what I felt was already stepping into something I didn't fully understand.