My very first crush.
I think his name was Matthew—funny how even that feels hazy now. But back then? Oh, every girl fancied him. He had that confident smile, that effortless coolness only teenage boys seem to master. And when he walked down the hall? It was like time slowed down. Ridiculous, really. But that’s how it felt.
I remember sitting in class, pretending to be absorbed in my book, only to sneak a glance over at him. And the one time—just once—when he looked back? I swear I stopped breathing for a second. Of course, I did what any awkward teenage girl would do: immediately turned away and acted like nothing happened. Classic.
Looking back now, it’s funny how serious it all seemed. How we thought that who you liked, who sat next to who in science class, or whether someone wrote “luv ya” or just “see ya” in your leavers book mattered. Everything felt so important, so defining.
But flipping through that book now, I see how innocent it all was. Before real jobs, bills, heartbreaks, responsibilities. Life was simple then. Crushes were sweet, drama was petty, and friendships were everything.
It makes me smile. And that’s the beautiful thing about first crushes—they stay with you, tucked away in pages of old notebooks, in the back of our minds, a little reminder of who we once were.
