Chapter 1: A Beginning in the Rain

It all began when I was in class 9. He was my best friend’s cousin, and even though we were from different schools, fate had other plans. We met online—on Instagram, of all places. I don’t even remember who followed whom first, but what I do remember is how naturally we started talking. It started with a few likes, then a reply to a story, and slowly, the conversations began.

His name was Robert.

At first, we were just friends. Nothing serious, nothing romantic—just two people from different worlds slowly orbiting each other. But as days passed, we began sharing bits of our lives. We talked about our dreams, our fears, our favorite songs, the things that made us laugh, and the things that made us cry. We found comfort in each other.

By October 2023, it became clear—we liked each other. It wasn’t said immediately, but it was there, in every late-night message, in every “good morning” and “sleep well” that we sent. It was there in the way he remembered the smallest things I told him, and in how he never failed to check in on me when I had a rough day.

Then came October 18. He asked if I wanted to go see the sunrise at Tlangnuam View. Just the two of us. I said yes, but I was so nervous. I’m a shy person by nature, and being alone with him for the first time made my heart race. He, on the other hand, was calm, cool, and collected—as always. The morning air was crisp, the sky painted in soft orange and pink. We didn’t talk much, but the silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable. It was peaceful. I think that’s when I started to really fall.

A few days later, we went for another sunrise trip—this time with his best friend, my best friend, and his cousin. It was livelier, full of laughter and small conversations. Yet even then, our eyes kept finding each other. He didn’t talk much, and neither did I. But the presence was enough.

He was a biker boy. There was something thrilling about it, riding behind him, my arms gently wrapped around his waist, feeling the wind brush against my face. After one of our rides, something scary happened. We were on a narrow road when a drunk man driving recklessly almost crashed into us. He blamed us, even though we had done nothing wrong. Robert, who was usually so composed, nearly lost his temper. I saw the anger in his eyes, the way his hands clenched. But I stopped him. My hands were trembling, but I told him not to argue—because no matter how wrong the man was, he was still our elder. Robert calmed down.

When we reached New Capital, he pulled over. He looked at me with concern and asked, “Are you okay?” He apologized for what had happened and asked again if I was really alright. That moment sealed something in my heart. He was gentle, respectful, and deeply caring. The kind of boy you’d only read about in stories.

I gave him a nickname—“Lalcareful.” He was my story boy. My main character.

But things weren’t perfect.

On October 28, we had a small argument about his ex-girlfriend. Nothing explosive, just a disagreement—but it left a crack. Our conversations started to get shorter, fewer, and far between.

Then came November 5. After school, my best friend—his cousin—invited me to their house. A few of our friends came over too, and we ended up playing cards together. But my mind wasn’t there. It was with Robert. I kept checking my phone, hoping for his name to pop up. Hours passed, and I couldn’t wait any longer.

So I sent the message.

“If you couldn’t get over your ex-girlfriend, then go back to her. It’s okay if that makes you happier. I wish you good luck, and thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Goodbye.”

It broke me to write that. I tried to move on. I deleted his contact number, trying to keep my distance. But I couldn’t delete our chats. I kept them. I reread them. Over and over.

December passed slowly. I missed him more than I could admit. I smiled less, laughed less. Then, in the middle of January, I saw his name on my screen again. A message. My heart stopped.

He asked for forgiveness.

I forgave him—immediately. But I was still hurt. At first, I kept some distance, replied late, stayed guarded. But slowly, the wall I built began to crumble. Our conversations grew longer, deeper, and more frequent. I could feel us becoming us again.

And on March 21, 2024, we made it official.

That was the day I felt whole again.

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