I quickly found that he was sweet. He was kind. He was loved. He was loving.

I think I fell in love with him during that first awkward conversation. Or at least, I was pretty sure it was love. I had very little idea what love actually was. I didn’t love my parents. They didn’t love me. If they ever did, they never showed it.

All I knew of love was in books. And I put very little weight in those. I knew they were fiction. Make-believe.

But what else could this feeling be? This fluttering in my chest, this sense of euphoria when he smiled at me.

At least I didn’t blush easily, otherwise I’d be completely red in the face.

He was funny. He was good at telling jokes.

He was actually able to make me laugh. He pulled a silly one-liner about how beautiful I was and I laughed. I surprised myself, and it took me most of my willpower to keep the surprised expression from my face.

I was pleasantly surprised.

Slowly, but surely, I was falling in love with him.

Quickly enough, I gathered around me a group of faithful and simpering companions.

No friends. I was allowed to have friends, true, but I found none of these bloodthirsty vipers to be suitable to share my feelings and confidentiality with. They were too easily swayed.

I was lonely. Surrounded in darkness, and I didn’t know how to come out. And then he came like a beacon of light.

I knew from the beginning that we would be together.

Because I wanted it.

Because it was perfect.

Because it was right.