My First Kiss His Last Chance- A Teenage Love I had to let go

“We’ll get married.”

“We’ll have kids together.”

“I crave you.”

“I love you.”

“I dreamt about our future.”

“It’s not me, it’s us.”

“Me and you against the world.”

“Why do you love me the way you do?”

I dated a boy for three months in my final year of secondary school, and those months were filled with the most toxic moments I’ve ever known.

I’ve always been the "I don’t care about boys" type of girl. I didn’t think love could sweep me up like that. But somehow, I ended up feeling like this particular guy was my entire world. He would hold my waist gently, almost needily, and kiss me—and all I could think was, please continue.

Sometimes we feel like we’re in love, but we aren’t. Sometimes we feel like we can’t live without a person, a habit, a drug, or even a drink. But the truth is, we can. We’ve done it before—we just don’t always remember.

Humans outgrow people. Foods. Habits. TV channels. Emotions. It’s part of us. It's natural.

He was the boy with the missing tooth, yet he was handsome, calm, funny, and neat—he gave all the vibes of “boyfriend material.” He liked me since Grade 10, but I didn’t notice. Maybe I didn’t care enough.

It wasn’t until Grade 11 that I started seeing him as this persistent “lover boy.” Still, I wasn’t interested. Not until I saw him at the back of our class, flirting with my close friend. That moment burned. For no reason, I felt betrayed. Angry. Jealous.

Then came the news—they were dating. I didn’t know what to feel. I hated that I lost an admirer to someone who swore she loved me like a sister.

I was sure she went after him for the money, but I was wrong. She actually had something real for him. But I think my feelings were more real—I just hadn’t realized it yet. He always made me smile somehow.

Still, I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want the kind of love he wanted. I let him slide. Let love pass me by. And for a while, I thought that was the right choice.

I had the money, the brains, the faith, and the friends. But I didn’t have him. And he sat right behind me in class, loving someone else.

Even though he had her, he still came around. Still made me laugh. Still tried to be there. He gave me a kind of care that was hard to find in other boys.

By our final term—the term with no classes, only exams—the script flipped.

They broke up. And the reason? She cheated. I didn’t care why. I just knew I was happy. 😂 The joy was twisted, but it was mine.

My birthday came early that term. Everyone had gifted me, and the day was winding down. It was just me and a friend left in class. She suddenly ran out, and while I was packing my bag, I sensed someone behind me.

I turned—and saw him. I blushed. My heart tensed.

He walked toward me slowly, and I backed up until my back hit the wall. I wanted to speak, to stop him, but I didn’t. I let him do him.

He reached me, and I hugged him. His fingers slipped to my waist—gentle but firm. I felt his lips near mine, and I panicked: Did I even brush well today?

Then his eyes locked with mine, and in that second, I stopped existing as myself. He leaned in—and kissed me.

My first kiss. And it was 🔥.

I didn’t want him to stop. But he did. He smiled, hugged me again, and gave me a box wrapped in my favorite color. That was the moment it all really began.

We started our I love you journey.

It moved fast. At first, it felt magical. But soon, I got tired of the love. He never did.

He always wanted more. Demanded more. And I never wanted to say “no” out of fear of hurting him. I’d agree to things I didn’t want, just to protect him. But all I was doing was damaging myself.

The truth hit me hard one day: if he really loved me, he wouldn’t have dated my best friend—not if he knew how I felt. I saw things through a foolish lens.

He didn’t want me to hang out with my girls. Hated seeing me happy with anyone else but him. He was controlling. Clingy. Consuming.

And that wasn’t love. That was infatuation.

After graduation, I gave the relationship time. But it only got worse.

Some people just aren’t meant for you. He wasn’t for me. And I wasn’t for him.

So I ended it. For good. To be happy. To be free. To kill the toxicity I let into my space.

Being a teenager only happens once.

Don’t waste that time *hurting yourself to keep someone else whole*.

Don’t give “forever” to someone who only wants control.

You’ll survive love. You’ll outgrow pain. You’ll bloom again.