I Always Believed My First Love Would Come True, But Mine Was Never Given A Chance

Anonymous Anonymous in Single Women Bad Women on 20 June, 2018

I am a very shy but happy girl and I belong to an orthodox family. Hailing from such an environment, I had certainly fixed views on what I wanted in my life. I was very studious and always considered marriage as an extremely sacred act that was permanent for life. I always dreamt of finding a husband with a vibrant charisma, someone who was rich in his virtues than monetary benefit, someone who was admired for his kindness than the way he looked. I knew that such men were rare, but I always kept hoping I would get lucky and find someone like that as my husband.

And my prayers were answered, albeit earlier than expected. A family of four rented a house near ours and moved in. Their two sons quickly became close to my two brothers and I used to run into them frequently because of that. Despite being the middle child, I was too shy and studious to hang out with them. The elder son of that family quickly caught my eye, not just because he was one of the most handsome men I’ve ever met, but also, as I got to observe his personality each day, I realised that he was a close match to the vision of the ideal man I’d painted in my head.

I was a young teenager at that time and I felt my infatuation and attraction for him grow into something more, something deep.

I started fantasizing about him in scenarios where he was my husband and where we were living a storybook perfect life with our perfect family. As a result of my orthodox upbringing, I didn’t believe in dating or being someone’s girlfriend. I was much too straight-laced and career oriented for that. And so, I decided to reveal my feelings to him only when we both were settled in our careers and were ready for marriage.

He was three years older to me and belonged to the same caste as me and I knew my family wouldn’t ever object to us as they loved him and were very impressed by his good manners and his simple attitude towards life.

Although we barely ever spoke to each other, I kept noticing that there were certain moments between us, moments not limited to words. One such instance was when he came home for my brother and I received him at the front door. Neither of us was expecting the other and for a few seconds, we both just stood there, rooted to the ground. We couldn’t utter a single word, but our eyes spoke volumes like they always seemed to be doing. He stammered out my brother’s name and I ran inside to call him. Instances like this made me feel like he reciprocated my feelings and I was always so happy to live in them.

Every day I would pray that he shouldn’t be attracted to any other girl and I finally admitted to myself that I was in love with this boy. I even partook in the Karva Chauth fasting in his name for five years, my young heart already worshipping him as my husband. But I still refrained from confessing my feelings for him. My board exams were nearing and I became immersed in my studies. Every spare minute of my day was crammed with revisions and mock tests and preparations, but I never stopped thinking about him.


 Once I’d passed my exams I started preparing to join a college for a degree in medicine. Despite all the changes happening in my life, one thing remained constant- him. No one knew the secret love I’d harboured in my heart and I preferred it that way. One day, when I was chatting with my friend, his sister rushed into the room with a news that rocked my world.

There was an accident on the beach and in an attempt to save his friends’ life, he passed away.

I refused to believe what she said and ran home and begged my brother to confirm its authenticity. But by then I’d already started to lose my mind. Unimaginable pain spread through my mind and body as I tried to wrap my head around the enormity of what had happened. I locked myself in the room and cried out to God, praying that the news should be fake and that he would walk through those doors at any moment and laugh about the whole misunderstanding. But my cries went unheard.

Three days later, his body was found and it was being brought home. I still kept praying that in a twist of fate, like those seen in the movies, the body would turn out not to be his and he would still be alive somewhere but too unwell to let us know he was ok. I was standing on my balcony when I saw the ambulance arrive and I suddenly saw a hand with a black watch fastened on, exactly like his. My joy knew no bounds and I began dancing on the terrace when I saw that the hand belonged to a different face.

The face I’d fallen in love with was being brought towards us on a stretcher, draped in white.

My world fell crashing around me and I stood, shivering, to my spot. My brothers and my parents rushed to see him, but I wouldn’t, I couldn’t go. I couldn’t bear to look upon the man I loved and see him lying lifeless. I lost my mind as I tried to comprehend the fact that a few hours later, his body would turn to ash and then it would truly be the end.

As a testament to his kind soul, everyone we knew turned up for the funeral. Our street was jammed with the number of people who wanted to pay their last respects to the boy who managed to touch their lives with his sincerity and his soft smile. Everyone lamented the loss of one of the purest souls they’d met. They all wanted the last glimpse of him, they all wanted to say goodbye. Everyone except me. I did not have the courage to say goodbye or to face his body because then, I would have to confirm that he was dead and was never coming back. In my mind, he was still alive and everything that was happening was a big mistake.

I wept uncontrollably and fell into a major depression. I couldn’t handle the grief and even contemplated killing myself and joining him, to finally confess how I felt about him. I lost my interest in studies and in my health and as a result, I did not pursue a career in medicine. My life had taken a complete 180-degree turn but the only thing that ever remained constant was my love for him.

It’s been more than 15 years since I lost him. Today, I’m a married woman with a family of my own, but there still hasn’t been a day when I haven’t thought of him and of the life that we could have had. It is said that God calls all good people to him early. Maybe God was jealous of us for having spent so much time with him that he took him away from us. Today, after so many years of hiding the overwhelming love I have felt for this man, I have decided to confess and let everyone know of the wonderful human being who still has the rule of my heart. I know that wherever he is, he is listening to my prayers and my cries and that he is always with and around me. He was a soul that every girl would dream of having as her own. Today, he does not exist in this physical world, but he will be eternal in the hearts of those he’s touched.

Editor's Note:

We keep hearing stories of first love which mostly had us laughing. Most of these stories realistically ended up with the people involved maturing and moving on. But stories such as this always tugs at one's heart. Share this story if you're wondering- Is it better to have loved and lost or not to have loved at all?