He Was My First, But Maybe Not My Forever

Chapter 5: When the Past Finds You Again

After campus, life became a mixture of healing and rediscovery. I had told myself I wouldn’t love again. Not after Ian. Not after the betrayal. But healing doesn’t always mean forgetting. It just means learning how to breathe again without the weight on your chest.

And then one evening, out of nowhere, I received a message from a number I didn’t recognize.

“Hey Mercy, is this still your number?”

I stared at the screen, my heart skipping a beat.

It was J.

After all these years, my first love had found me again.

We talked like no time had passed. He told me about life, work, his ambitions. I told him about campus, my job, how much had changed. We exchanged contacts again. There were late-night chats, morning greetings, and random photos of things that reminded us of our childhood. It felt so easy. So warm. Like picking up a book you never truly stopped reading.

Six months passed. One day, in a playful tone, I texted him: “So how’s your girlfriend? I hope she’s not too jealous of our chats.”

I expected a laugh. Maybe a joke.

Instead, he sent a picture.

A girl. Beautiful. Smiling. Happy.

Then he wrote, “We’re good.”

That was it. Two words.

I don’t know what hurt more—the fact that he had moved on or that he told me so casually. I stared at the screen for hours, trying not to cry. But I did.

I deleted his number that night.

But despite everything, I still found myself scrolling through his f*******: profile whenever I had a chance. Looking at his photos, his posts, wondering if he ever thought about me. If he ever missed me the way I missed him.

And just when I thought my heart had no more room for love, someone else came along.

His name was Brian. Tall, dark, handsome. The kind of man every girl dreams about.

We met through my cousin at a family event on my grandparents’ side. He wasn’t loud or flirtatious. He was calm, observant, and his eyes held stories I wanted to read.

We talked. Then we met again. And again.

Before I knew it, love was in the air.

Brian was gentle and thoughtful. He remembered the little things. Like how I liked my tea with extra sugar. How I hated being tickled but laughed anyway. How I always carried a notebook in my bag.

We would go for long walks. Watch sunsets together. Sit on the roof at night and count stars. He once wrote me a poem and hid it inside a book I was reading.

“You deserve a love that feels like a safe place,” it read.

And for three years, he was my safe place.

He’d pick me up after work. Surprise me with flowers. Dance with me in the kitchen. Sometimes, he’d whisper, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Only my cousins knew about us. I was afraid to tell my parents. Afraid that love would disappoint me again.

But with Brian, everything felt different.

Until it didn’t.

He got a scholarship to study abroad. Four years.

He promised to come back after two.

“I’ll come back for you,” he said, holding my face in his hands. “We’ll make this work. I’ll marry you.”

I believed him.

At first, the calls were daily. Then weekly. Then… nothing.

He started giving excuses—school, work, stress. I understood. I tried to be supportive.

But then he changed.

He became distant. Cold. Accusing.

“You want too much attention,” he said. “Don’t you understand I’m working hard for our future?”

He started blaming me for everything.

“I’m tired.” “You’re too emotional.” “You don’t trust me.”

And I was here, thousands of miles away, asking myself what I did wrong.

The messages became short. Then dry. Then none.

I cried myself to sleep, wondering why every man who claimed to love me ended up making me feel like a burden.

But I never stopped remembering the romantic Brian. The one who brought me soup when I was sick. The one who sat in silence with me when I couldn’t speak. The one who once carved our initials into a tree at my grandfather’s shamba.

I still don’t know when exactly he fell out of love. But one day, I realized he wasn’t coming back.

And once again, I was left with a promise that never became a reality.

Maybe love isn’t about fairy tales. Maybe it’s just about finding someone who stays.

But still, I hoped.

And deep down, a small voice whispered: Maybe J was always the one.

Maybe my heart knew all along.

Maybe my first love… was still my last.