Cursed Beginnings

"The gravity of your fake love was so powerful that I fell for it."

Looking back, it feels like I should have known from the beginning. There was always

something off, something that warned me to stay away, but I ignored it.I think back to when

we first met, and it's almost laughable now, how quickly things unfolded, how inevitable it

all felt. I'd like to say that I didn't see it coming, that falling in love with her was a surprise,

but that wouldn't be true. In a way, I knew from the moment we met that my life was about

to change.

It all started with a college assignment. We'd been paired up for a group project in one of

those large lecture classes, and I barely noticed her at first. Just another face in the crowd,

just another person I'd have to work with. I wasn't looking for anything; I wasn't even open

to the idea. I'd been burned before, cheated on by someone I'd trusted, someone I thought

I'd spend my life with. I'd been through enough to know that love wasn't something I wanted

again, not if it meant exposing myself to that kind of pain.

But Anne—she was different. She had this way about her, a quiet confidence that drew

people in, a warmth that made everything feel a little less heavy. When we sat down to

discuss the project, she was the first one to smile, the first one to speak, and before I knew

it, we'd fallen into an easy rhythm, like we'd known each other for years. We spent hours in

the library, working side by side, stealing glances when we thought the other wasn't

looking. I could feel her watching me sometimes, her eyes lingering just a moment too long,

and I'd wonder if she saw through me, if she sensed the walls I'd built around myself.

Anne fell for me first. I think I knew it before she did, though she never said anything

outright. It was in the way she looked at me, the way she'd lean in just a little closer when

we talked, the way she'd laugh at my stupid jokes, her eyes lighting up with something I

hadn't seen in a long time. And for a while, I let myself believe that we could keep it simple,

that we could just be friends, partners, without anything more. But it didn't take long for me

to realize I was fooling myself. She was becoming a part of me, slipping through the cracks

in my defenses, melting the ice I'd surrounded myself with.

There was this one night, late in the semester, when we were working late on the project.

The campus was quiet, the halls empty, and we'd taken a break to sit outside, watching the

stars. She was sitting beside me, close enough that I could feel her warmth, and she turned

to me, her eyes full of something I couldn't quite read.

"Do you ever wonder if there's someone out there just for you?" she asked, her voice soft,

almost hesitant. I remember looking away, feeling a familiar ache in my chest, a reminder

of all the reasons I'd told myself I didn't need love.

"Honestly, I've stopped believing in that," I replied, forcing a smile. "Sometimes, it just feels

like setting yourself up for heartbreak."

She was quiet after that, and I thought I'd ruined the moment, that my honesty had scared

her off. But instead, she just reached out, her hand finding mine, her fingers lacing through

mine in a way that felt so natural, so right. I didn't pull away. I didn't want to.

In that moment, something shifted between us. I could feel her love, pure and unguarded,

and I felt my own walls crumbling, my fears unraveling in the warmth of her touch. She

didn't ask for anything; she just gave, quietly, gently, and I found myself drawn to her, even

though I was terrified of what it would mean, of what I'd lose if I let myself love her back.

She'd become the one person I trusted, the one person who made me feel like I could be

more than my broken past, like I could find something real again. And for a while, I let

myself believe in the possibility of us, in the idea that maybe, just maybe, I'd found

someone who wouldn't hurt me, someone who'd stay. But there was always a part of me

that held back, a part that whispered that I wasn't enough, that she'd leave like the others

had, that I'd end up alone again.

Looking back, I wonder if I was sabotaging us from the start, letting my fear and my scars

taint something that could have been beautiful. She'd given me everything, and all I could

offer was a broken heart, a love that came with conditions, with doubts I couldn't silence. I

wanted to give her more, to be the man she deserved, but a part of me was always waiting

for her to leave, for the day when she'd see the truth, when she'd realize that loving me was

a mistake.

Maybe that's why it hurt so much when she left, why it felt like she'd taken a part of me with

her. Because deep down, I'd known all along that we were never meant to last, that our love

was built on borrowed time, on a foundation of memories that were already slipping away. I

wanted so badly to believe that I could be enough for her, that we could find a way to make

it work. But in the end, I was just a boy who'd been hurt too many times, a boy who'd loved

a girl with all his heart, but never believed he was worthy of her love in return.

Now, all I have are the memories, the fragments of a love that was never meant to be, a love

I'll carry with me for the rest of my life. I wonder if she remembers, if she ever looks back on

those college days, on the quiet moments we shared, on the love we built between late

nights and stolen glances. Or if, like me, she knows that we were always destined to fall apart, that our love was cursed from the beginning, a beautiful, fragile thing that was never

meant to survive.