She lived by some unwritten rule that said, “never show too much love.”

I was the opposite – reckless, wearing my heart on my sleeve, diving headfirst into love, doling it out like candy on Halloween, even when it ended up in the wrong hands.

 

Growing up, she had to learn independence early on, not by choice, but by circumstance. It wasn’t her fault.

As for me, I felt like I couldn’t stand being alone for too long. There was something unsettling about not having a hand to hold, even if it was cold because most didn’t need to be held, at least not by me.

 

She had her head in the clouds, dreaming about genuine love and what it might feel like.

I was out there living it, or so I thought. Turns out, I was better at giving genuine love than receiving it.

 

She was the absolute best at doubting it when it comes, though. But who could blame her? When even the people who were supposed to know and love her best fall short, how can she trust a stranger to do any better?

I, on the other hand, kept on believing that if it worked, it was meant to be, and if it didn’t, well, onto the next try. My heart had seen its fair share of bruises, shattered pieces, all without much care or accountability from those who held it, but I had become quite the expert at putting the pieces back together before they found their way into... yet another wrong hand.

 

She tended to see the glass as half empty,

While I tried my best to see it as half full.

 

But one thing we could both nod our heads at in agreement: we were both hopeless romantics.

She, in her own way,

And me, well, in every way possible.

 

 

What if?

What if our paths had crossed?

How would it have played out?

 

The first meeting.

It’s the cornerstone of everything that follows. It determines the course, the direction, and ultimately, the outcome.

 

And so, I can’t help but wonder how ours would have played out.

Would it have changed everything? Started something new? Or maybe it would’ve been just a passing moment, fading into the background as quickly as it came.

 

If I kept on doing what I always did, giving my heart away to people I barely knew, how would she have handled it if it ended up in her hands?

Would she have panicked and crushed it, not knowing what to do, consumed by fear? Or perhaps, out of that same fear, she would freeze, leaving it there, waiting for me to reclaim it.

I can almost picture her, demanding that I take it back, maybe even getting a bit angry about it. And honestly, I get it.

How could I expect someone like her, an overthinker through and through, to know how to handle something as delicate as a heart? Overthinkers, they’re always on edge, always worrying about the worst-case scenario. You just can’t trust them to hold onto something fragile when they’re too busy thinking about how badly they could mess it up and not know how to fix it.

 

It’s kind of funny, isn’t it?

For me to even entertain the thought of her allowing my heart to touch the palm of her hand in the first place?

She’d do anything to dodge that situation, I’m sure of it. She’d build her highest walls just to keep me from getting close.

 

 

 

“Getting bored yet?”

I’d heard her the first time, but it was always a question worth asking. “What?” I pulled my attention away from the stage, where a group of performers was stumbling through a scene. The set was simple, too simple maybe—a few shabby props that looked like they’d been borrowed from a high school drama department. The lighting was uneven, casting more shadows than illumination, which only highlighted the nervousness of the actors. Their movements were stiff, their lines delivered with more hope than conviction.

I turned to my friend Chaeyoung, who was watching me rather than the stage.

She leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “Are you bored?”

Should I tell her the truth? The play was dragging, and you could tell the actors were novices, more awkward than absorbed in their roles.

“When’s it getting to the good part?” I dodged her question with one of my own. Some of the actors were her friends, after all. She was the reason I was here, trying to support the community she was a part of. Chaeyoung was majoring in the arts, so these were her people, her circle.

“I’m guessing not anytime soon for you.”

“For me?”

“Yeah, I think I know what you’d enjoy, and it’s definitely not happening up there anytime soon.”

I scoffed, a mix of frustration and amusement bubbling up. “What does that even mean?” I asked, but she just shrugged in response. “Well, I guess I’ll trust the judgment of someone who’s seen this show four times now,” I muttered, trying to refocus on the stage.

“The things you do to support your friends, you know?” She laughed softly. “You still have time for a cigarette if you’re really bored and need some air or something,” she suggested. Honestly, it sounded like a great idea at that point. “Smoke qualifies as air, doesn’t it?” she really had to ask.

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