In life, the concept of forever may not stretch as far as we once believed.

The profound influence of first love remains etched in our memories, often evoking a smile as we recall the tempest of emotions—from the thrill of pursuit to the inevitable heartbreak. Yet, every ending has a beginning.

I encountered my first love during a high school party at a yellow, two-story house located just off the freeway. The party was in full swing, and I was perched on a car hood, chatting on the phone with a boy I fancied, when he arrived. He rolled up in a crowded blue Cadillac, flanked by a white car. Due to the packed driveway, they had to park further away. He stood about 5' 8" with a solid build and broad shoulders, sauntering towards the house with a girl on each arm and his friends trailing behind.

His arrival was marked by the thumping bass of his car, drawing partygoers to greet him. He wasn’t just a close friend of the hosts; he was also known for supplying party favors. As he approached, a few eager attendees dashed to welcome him, while others split off to scout the scene.

This is where our memories diverge. He recalls the moment he first spotted me as a timeless instant of love at first sight. Conversely, I was far from impressed. His popularity and charm did little to sway me; I was accustomed to such bravado in my neighborhood, and the two attractive girls accompanying him didn’t help his cause.

My attention was on someone else—a nice guy my cousin had introduced me to just days prior. We hadn’t officially started dating, but we were getting to know each other through frequent phone calls. This party was intended to be our first date until he found himself grounded.

So there I sat, oblivious to the festivities around me, until my cousin interrupted to introduce him. Dressed in a fitted black leather top and snug blue jeans, I felt self-conscious. My black hair cascaded down my back, adorned with curled lashes and tinted lip gloss. I barely acknowledged him, eager to return to my conversation. They wandered off, leaving me to continue my chat with Manuel, who soon asked, “Uh, who was that?” just before the line went dead.

My first reaction was panic—I thought I had broken the phone. Then, concern washed over me that Manuel might think I had hung up on him. My older cousin Tilly and her friend Rebecca soon joined me. Tilly, slender and fair-skinned with dark blonde hair, stood alongside Rebecca, who was shorter and had jet-black hair. They were dating the brothers hosting the party.

“They unplug it inside when they need to make a call. You can’t be on it all night; it’s a party!” Rebecca rolled her eyes at me, embodying the party’s queen bee. Tilly, the only one who could speak firmly to Rebecca, chimed in with a smile, “That guy wants to talk to you.”

“Not interested,” I shot back.

“Hey, he never hooks up at parties. You should be flattered!” Rebecca interjected.

“He arrived with two girls and a whole crew!” I laughed.

“Exactly! He always brings someone. He’s never interested in girls at our parties,” Rebecca insisted.

I looked at Tilly in disbelief. Their boyfriends were cousins of the guy I was talking to, so I couldn’t fathom why they thought he wouldn’t mind pursuing me.

I was mistaken; they didn’t care. In fact, they sent the girls to persuade me on their friend’s behalf, hoping to score party discounts. The girls shared all the details about him that they thought might interest me, but it only made me less inclined.

Eventually, I left, feeling upset. I couldn’t leave entirely since I was among the younger guests, invited by family. So, I mingled inside the party, trying to avoid my cousin, before wandering back outside.

When I returned, he and his friend were smoking by the house. His friend left, and he approached me with confidence, asking if I needed anything. I replied that it was my first party and that I didn’t do “anything,” which made him smile—though I still didn’t understand why.

I felt a twinge of fear as we stood alone, but his charming smile eased my nerves. He fumbled over his words, which made me think he might be too drunk to realize what he was doing. But I later learned it was just his nervousness. I stepped back, and he mirrored my movement.

I wanted to inquire about his girlfriends but didn’t want to appear interested. Instead, I spoke about Manuel. He interrupted with a chuckle, “F***, that lil punk.”

That’s when I realized he didn’t know my age. I smiled triumphantly, thinking he’d lose interest. “He’s my age,” I said. His expression shifted momentarily, but he quickly returned his gaze to me and suggested I go back inside since it wasn’t safe to be alone out there.

I took his advice, mainly because I wanted to find Tilly and share my experience. I thought she’d be relieved to learn I wouldn’t have to worry about his interest after revealing my age. Instead, they were terrified they had upset him by not disclosing it.

The girls and I stepped outside, and as they reprimanded me, I asked Rebecca if I could use the restroom. She said I had to go to the gas station across the street. Tilly didn’t defend me this time, and when I asked her to join me, she remained silent. “I’ll take her,” he said from behind me, and I didn’t turn around.

My eyes widened, pleading with Tilly to object. “Do you guys want anything from there?” he asked.

Since the store was closer than his car, we walked together. He led the way, slightly ahead and to my side, and I don’t recall if we spoke at all during the walk. When I went to the restroom, he was supposed to browse the store, but he knocked on my door to ask what I wanted to drink and again about chips. I chuckle at that now, but I was annoyed at the time.

On our way back, we chatted about school and family, and he shared stories about his dog. The expressions on people’s faces upon our return to the party puzzled me. It seemed odd that such a minor errand had created such a stir among them. Unbeknownst to me, a bond had formed that night, and he had claimed me without my consent.

I never heard from Manuel again after that night. Months later, when December rolled around, Tilly excitedly told me, “Guess whose 19th birthday it is? He wants to see you.” I was surprisingly eager.

I chose a maroon and grey striped top, fitted white holographic bell-bottom jeans, and black boots. My shoulder-length hair was light brown and straightened. I wore minimal makeup—just mascara and tinted lip gloss.

We arrived fashionably late to the birthday bash, welcomed with drinks. My cousin’s boyfriend, who had previously ignored me, suddenly acted like the friendliest person around. “You made it! I didn’t think you’d show up! Guess who’s here?” He glanced at Tilly, “Did you tell her who’s here?”

“Does she know whose birthday it is? Is that what you’re asking? Did I listen to your hundred requests to bring her? Of course, I told her!” Tilly replied.

“Sorry, I know. Babe, you’re right,” he said, reaching for Tilly, who playfully slapped his hands away. I took that as my cue to leave them be and followed Rebecca into the crowd.

As I navigated the main room, our eyes met from across the space, drawing us together. We stood awkwardly yet comfortably in front of each other. I didn’t want to admit I liked him; it was easier to say he was cute. Usually, I got nervous around someone I liked, but with him, I felt at ease. He seemed to enjoy letting me know he liked me first, and that he was willing to wait for me to catch up.

I can’t recall our conversation word for word, but I remember wishing him a happy birthday, discussing our birthdays, gifts, and dinner plans. I distinctly recall how he dismissed well-wishers who interrupted us. What I can never forget is our first kiss—my first consensual kiss—where he held me close in a crowded room, making it feel like no one else existed.

That marked the start of our bittersweet story. Like Romeo and Juliet, we came from different worlds—opposing sides of the city, diverse beliefs, and lifestyles. He may insist it was love at first sight, but I needed time to come around. Yet when I finally did, it was undeniable. He became my person.

I genuinely believe love is eternal. However, its form and significance can change as we journey through life. Your first love may not be your only love. In my case, my love for my children overshadowed my first love when difficult choices had to be made. His lifestyle posed risks to our safety, and with a heavy heart, I let go of the only true love I had known. I walked away still deeply in love and knowing he felt the same. The absence of his presence left me heartbroken, to the point of mourning what we could have shared.

The ache subsided only through the love I found in motherhood. I had to prioritize my children’s safety over my love for him. After all, he had repeatedly failed to leave that life behind, and I couldn’t take that risk.

Our separation wasn’t abrupt; we gradually distanced ourselves for about a year. Weak moments drew us back together for fleeting nights. It was immense, incomprehensible pain, but we never resorted to insults or accusations. The most hurtful thing he said came during one of the weekends when I dropped off our kids.

Our daughter was four, and our son was two when I took them to him. We maintained our usual civility until he asked how I planned to spend the weekend without the kids. He had been candid about the new woman in his life, so I assumed he wanted to share. I mentioned my plans for dinner and a movie with a guy I had just met, only for him to snap, “Well, good luck with that; it’s not like you look how you used to.”

Ouch! It was a heart-stopping moment to hear the one person I adored for so long essentially call me unattractive. It wasn’t necessarily what he said but how I perceived it. Thankfully, I refrained from lashing out. Instead, I laughed it off and drove away. The drop-off felt colder than usual, but we exchanged no further insults or inquiries.

This pattern continued for another two years until he relocated to another country, and visitation ceased. We kept in touch through video calls and phone conversations for years. He would call on birthdays and holidays, and the kids could reach out to share their achievements anytime.

Over the years, there have been several late-night drunken calls. Sometimes I answer; other times, I find it too painful. Not all these conversations are somber; we occasionally laugh about past memories or discuss the children’s future. We could go months without speaking and still connect as if we had just hung up.

Years ago, his sister urged me to cut ties. “The kids are older now; they have their own phones. Let him call them directly,” she advised. “Every time he drinks, he gets your name tattooed. I visited him this summer, and his girlfriend was crying. He tells her to leave whenever she gets upset about you.”

I complied. It was time for both of us to move on without the remnants of our past lives. Deep down, I knew our timing was off. He eventually left his old life behind, and while we haven’t had any more children, he is now married and a stepfather to three boys.