Before K, there was L.
She was the first person I noticed in high school. Day one of Grade 8—we had to form groups of five for a challenge. Paper tower building. I was with my friends when a girl walked up to me and asked, "Do you have space for one more?" That girl was L.
We built the tower together. I talked to her with ease—no nervous heart, no choking up, no voice cracking. Back then, she was just another person. Just another laugh. Just another memory.
But then came Valentine's Day.
I saw her again—L—and that's when it really hit me. The way my heart started racing without warning. The way my chest felt tight. I remembered how I spoke to her that first day, so casual, so careless. I wanted to rewind it. Do it all over again. But I couldn't.
That day, I realized something scary: I liked her.
And that crush lasted for two whole years.
Unlike K—where my heart sprinted with every interaction—loving L felt... distant. Like watching the sunset from a window. Beautiful, but untouchable. We rarely spoke. I kept my feelings to myself. And maybe that's what made it safer.
But those moments we shared—Eye contact across the room. Her glancing at me, holding it for just a second longer than necessary. It always felt like she was testing me. Like her silence dared me to speak up.
Eventually, I did.
I approached her one day and said, "Hey, how are you? How's school been?"
She smiled faintly and gave short answers. Not much. But still, it was something. That brief talk gave me hope... and then came silence again. Five whole months. No more words, just eye contact. Glances that told me maybe I still mattered in her world, even if only slightly.
What made it harder was that she already knew I liked her. From mid Grade 8, it wasn't a secret—not to her. I never said it outright, but feelings like that always find their way through silence. And I think she knew.
Then January, Grade 9.
I remembered the old class group chat. It had been silent forever, but I scrolled through it and saw her number. My heart pounded. I saved it.
And I texted her.
"Hey."
She replied.
But... she didn't know who I was. I teased her, kept it playful.
"Guess who this is," I said.
She played along. Quick replies. Curious energy.
Then I told her who I was.
And that's when everything shifted.
Her texts slowed. She didn't seem as interested anymore. Maybe she expected someone else. Maybe the mystery was better than the reality.
I asked about her favorite music. She said R&B. I smiled to myself. It fit her—smooth, calm, mellow.
But after that, things faded. She only replied when she needed school stuff. I told her to keep our conversation a secret—I don't even know why. Maybe I was scared. Maybe it felt like something too delicate to say out loud.
And then, around July or August, she got a boyfriend.
I saw it coming. She always hung around this guy. They laughed. Shared earphones. Took pictures. I told myself they were just friends.
But they weren't.
The news shattered me. I deleted our chat. Unfollowed her. Tried to forget.
But we were still in the same class.
Sometimes, she asked for things. A ruler. A paper. I gave it. Quietly. Quickly. Still holding on. Still admiring her from a distance.
And when I saw her with him, all close, all happy, I smiled. I smiled and turned away.
Because loving L never demanded too much of me. It never asked me to break out of my shell. It never forced me to face rejection. All it ever asked was: watch. Admire. Dream.
Loving L was like floating on still water. You don't drown, but you don't swim either.
She never rejected me.She never promised anything.She never said yes, and never said no.
That's what made it peaceful.That's what made it hurt less.
But that's also what made it easy to lose her.
Then came K.
And she didn't let me stay silent.
She pulled me into the deep end.
She made me talk. Made me feel. Made me take chances.
And when it ended—when she chose someone else—it wasn't peace that followed.
It was pain.
Because while L was a dream I never touched,
K was the memory I can't forget.