Chapter 3: First Love, First Fall

In the second semester of our freshman year, we became classmates because we both chose the humanities track.

Our high school let you pick a path, and we both went for the humanities—English, history, social studies. That’s how I landed in Homeroom 25, a weird mix of bookworms and artists.

Homeroom 25 for humanities had just been formed, and in the first round of exams, she came in first, immediately drawing the attention of all the teachers.

It was a big deal—her photo was up on the school website, and every teacher made her the gold standard. She took it in stride, though, never bragged.

The English teacher once said she reminded her of her own daughter. Over time, she even began to treat her as if she were her own child.

Ms. Jefferson, our English teacher, would linger at her desk after class, sharing books or asking about her weekend. It felt like they had a secret club sometimes.

The English teacher had been divorced for years. Her only daughter had moved to the UK with her ex-husband, and she hadn’t seen her in years. Once, while analyzing an essay in class, she was moved to tears and told us about her daughter. At that moment, I realized the English teacher was a very lonely person.

It made sense, the way she clung to Natalie—my girlfriend—as if she could fill that empty space. I could almost see the longing in her eyes.

Natalie was an extremely quiet girl, always speaking softly, her smile like a flower bud about to bloom, never showing her teeth. The funniest thing was, whenever someone looked at her too closely, she would blush instantly, like a ripe apple.

She kept her hair in a messy bun, always wore faded Converse, and her laugh was so rare it felt like a secret. I never got tired of seeing her cheeks turn pink when someone teased her.

She wasn’t shy, just naturally that way. I often teased her about her “changing face.”

Sometimes I’d poke fun, just to see that blush appear. She’d roll her eyes, but I knew she didn’t mind.

Coincidentally, these were the exact traits the English teacher’s daughter had.

I could see why Ms. Jefferson was drawn to her. It was like Natalie reminded her of a happier time.

So, she was always especially favored by the English teacher.

Natalie would get picked first for reading aloud or for extra credit projects. Nobody really resented it—she was just that good.

At first, we had little interaction. Even after being classmates for over half a semester, we had barely exchanged a few words face-to-face.

I was quiet too, more comfortable behind a book than in front of a crowd. We existed in parallel worlds, never crossing paths.

I had only added her on Facebook through the class group, occasionally liking her posts on her timeline.

She mostly posted photos of books, plants, and the occasional dog meme. I always hit like, hoping she’d notice.

Once, I saw a video of her ice skating and left a casual comment: “I want to learn, please teach me.”

I thought nothing of it. Just a throwaway comment, a shot in the dark. But it changed everything.

Who would have thought, those four words would entwine our previously unrelated lives together.

Looking back, it feels like fate hung on that single click. Life can hinge on the smallest things.

Soon after, she took the initiative to ask if I wanted to go skating.

Her DM came late at night: "Do you still want to learn? I go every Saturday." I almost dropped my phone in surprise.

Curious, I followed her to the rink. I thought it would be easy, but I overestimated myself. My stubborn pride made me fall dozens of times that day.

The rink was cold, my jeans soaked through in minutes. She glided effortlessly, laughing as I struggled to stand. My pride took a beating, but I didn't care.

Later, while resting, I watched her skate for a while.

She spun in slow circles, hair streaming behind her. There was a grace to her movements that made the rest of the world fade out.

She wore an oversized hoodie and faded leggings, but on the ice, she looked like she belonged in a snow globe. The overhead lights turned everything silver. For a second, I was convinced she belonged in some enchanted story.

Suddenly, a line came to mind: “Still as a flower reflected in water, moving like a willow swaying in the wind.”

It sounded cheesy, but in that moment, it fit her perfectly. I tried to memorize every detail, afraid the memory would vanish.

It seemed to describe her perfectly.

My heart beat faster. I wondered if she had any idea what she was doing to me.

A strange feeling began to bloom in my heart.

It was new, exhilarating, terrifying. I felt like I was seeing the world in color for the first time.

Just then, she came over, held out her hand, and invited me to skate a lap with her.

Her palm was cold but steady. "Come on," she said. "I won’t let you fall."

I hesitated, shaking my head. She smiled gently and teased, “Don’t be afraid, I’ll protect you.”

I wanted to laugh but my mouth went dry. Her confidence was contagious; it made me want to believe.

Who knew this quiet girl had such a playful spirit?

She wasn’t just sweet—she had a streak of mischief, too. That surprised me in the best way.

I couldn’t refuse, so I reached out and slowly stood up.

My legs wobbled, but I let her guide me. It felt like trust—scary, but right.

Maybe it was just my wishful thinking, but it was the first time I’d ever held a girl’s hand.

I tried to play it cool, but inside, everything was fireworks. She squeezed my fingers once, and I almost forgot how to breathe.

While skating, I was especially cautious, afraid that if I fell, I’d drag her down with me.

I kept apologizing, but she just laughed, telling me not to worry. Her laughter echoed off the ice.

But what you fear most always happens. Someone skated backwards toward us at high speed. I panicked, lost my balance, and my skate crashed into hers.

We hit the ice hard, my breath whooshing out. For a second, all I could feel was the cold—and her hand in mine. In a dramatic, almost unbelievable moment, she happened to fall right on top of me.

Our limbs tangled, cheeks pressed together. I thought my heart might explode.

I don’t know if people always fall like that at the rink, but at that moment, my teenage heart was already racing.

If anyone saw, I didn’t care. I felt lucky, even in humiliation.

Seeing her face so close, smelling the fragrance of her hair—even her breath seemed sweet.

We both burst out laughing, sprawled across the ice, neither of us in any rush to get up. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

Ah, the heart of a teenage boy!

It was the best fall I’d ever taken. I would have stayed there forever, given the chance.

Her expression changed ever so slightly, but she didn’t seem to mind at all.

Instead, she helped me up, brushing the ice off my sleeves, her touch gentle.

After skating, it was dinner time. I casually asked if she wanted to eat together.

I was nervous she’d say no, but she grinned and said, “Sure, I’m starving.”

She agreed without hesitation.

We went to a diner nearby, one with sticky booths and jukeboxes at every table. It felt like the kind of place you’d see in an old movie.

She slid into the booth across from me, the red vinyl squeaking. The waitress poured us Cokes, the ice clinking loud in the glass. At our first dinner together, we were both quiet, but it felt so natural and comfortable—never awkward or forced.

We didn’t say much, but the silence felt easy. She played with her straw wrapper, I watched the rain tapping on the window.

She didn’t eat egg yolks and asked if I wanted hers.

I shrugged, "I’ll take it."

She scooped it up and held it to my mouth.

I blinked in surprise but leaned in, playing along. It was oddly intimate, sharing food like that.

I couldn’t help but laugh: “Are you feeding me?”

My cheeks flushed, but she only giggled.

She laughed too, her smile like a blooming flower.

It was the kind of laugh that made other people look up. I realized, in that moment, I was in deep.

“If you think so, then yes.”

She winked, and suddenly everything felt lighter. I grinned back, trying not to look too lovestruck.

From that moment, I was completely smitten.

My stomach fluttered in a way food couldn’t explain. I knew right then I’d remember that night forever.

After dinner, I suggested a walk in the park to help digest. She agreed easily.

We bundled up and wandered through the park, talking about books, school, and silly childhood memories. It was the kind of night you wish would never end.

The park at night was peaceful, the breeze gentle. Under the pale yellow streetlights, our two long shadows naturally held hands.

It felt like something out of a movie. The world faded away, leaving just the two of us and our shadows dancing on the pavement.

The park wasn’t large, so we circled it again and again, as if trying to steal more time from fate.

Each lap felt shorter, but neither of us wanted to say goodbye. It was the first time in a long while I felt truly seen.

After returning, I desperately wanted to confess to her.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, rehearsing what I’d say. My heart pounded so loudly I thought she’d hear it across town.

But I always felt it was too sudden, too soon. I struggled all night and couldn’t sleep.

I kept talking myself out of it, telling myself to wait, to be patient. But patience felt like torture.

Back at school, we went back to acting like strangers. No one noticed anything.

We avoided eye contact in the halls, as if the weekend had been a dream only I remembered.

No one would have guessed that two people who never interacted had shared such a brief, precious memory.

To the outside world, we were just classmates, nothing more.

Two weeks later, I couldn’t hold back any longer. After much deliberation, I sent her a text:

'You’re the reason I believe love doesn’t have to take years. Sometimes two people just find each other and it fits—like we’ve done this before.'

I rewrote those lines a dozen times before sending them, terrified and hopeful all at once.

I waited a long, long time.

Every time my phone buzzed, my stomach flipped. I almost gave up hope.

Finally, my phone lit up.

I held my breath, afraid to look but unable to resist.

She replied:

'In the torrent of billions of years

our short lives are but fleeting moments

But even so

my years may still be long and lovely because of you'

Her words glowed on the screen. I read them again and again, my heart soaring. That’s when I knew we were more than just friends.

Just like that, we got together—quietly, as if it were meant to be.

No big announcement, no fanfare. We just started spending more time together, like the universe had quietly shifted.

We went to movies on weekends, rowed boats, visited bookstores to make tea and read, went to the boardwalk to listen to the wind and wait for the moon, climbed hills to see wildflowers, chased clouds from the rooftops, and watched fish by the quiet river.

Every weekend was a new adventure. We’d drive out to the lake, rent a canoe, or split milkshakes at the local ice cream parlor. Even the smallest things—like browsing vinyl at the record shop—felt magical.

The happiness of first love filled our ordinary days.

It was the kind of joy that made even the grayest Mondays bright. I caught myself smiling for no reason, the world suddenly full of possibility.