First Crush

It was a typical Friday night. I’d finished dinner and was now sitting in front of my laptop, contemplating—yet again—what to watch. As always, I wasted nearly half an hour scrolling, scrolling, scrolling… until suddenly it was 11 p.m.

That’s when nature called.

A quick bathroom detour turned into late-night hunger, so I made popcorn, warmed some milk, and crawled back into bed—my unofficial weekend partner being my laptop. Not much of a party girl, I guess. To be honest, not much of anything. If I had to summarize myself: a bore… but a hopeless romantic.

Which is precisely why, after a soul-sucking week at work and the melancholy of a long-distance relationship, I decided it had to be a rom-com.

I hit play on one of my favourites: Wake Up Sid. I’m forever in love with that movie—the kind of love that feels like a warm blanket. Aisha—the ambitious, dreamy girl trying to make it in a big city—has always felt like a reflection of me. A girl who finds love while finding herself.

I mean… can life get any better?

We girls start dreaming of true love the moment we understand what the words even mean. Rom-coms twist our ideals so beautifully that instead of looking for the truth of life, we start looking for the love of it.

I was slipping deeper into my happy little la-la land when my phone suddenly lit up. Almost midnight.

My boyfriend was on a trip, so who could possibly be texting me?

I ignored it. Wake Up Sid rarely loses my attention.

Then—another beep.

Okay, distraction accepted. I sighed, paused the movie, and grabbed my phone to mentally tell off whoever was interrupting.

New message. 12:05 a.m. From: Ayaan.

I checked again to be sure. Not the school group. A direct message.

My heart stuttered. My cheeks flushed. My brain stopped forming real thoughts. All the classic symptoms of a much-forgotten but very real disease: your first love texting you out of nowhere after years.

Plot twist—not in the movie. In my life.

Ayaan: Hi.

I typed back, trying to look casual while my insides were doing somersaults:

Me: Hi… all good??

We were connected through the school group and occasionally exchanged a line or two in public, but never privately. Never like this.

I was in sixth grade when I realised—that he was my one true love. We played together, did co-curricular together. School was boring, but he made it worth going every day.

We shared our lunch boxes and went home separately—because we lived far away in the city—but those school hours were everything to me.

As we grew older, I confessed everything to my best friend, Isha. She, in return, confessed crushes on every third boy she met. Balance.

But then came the news: we were moving. Defence family life—always packing, always leaving. I was devastated. Isha was too.

She kept asking why I hadn’t told Ayaan about my feelings yet.

Oh—right—

Did I mention it was a one-sided love story?

I truly believed a girl should never confess. That would ruin the perfection of a love story before it even started. So I didn’t start it at all.

Instead, I quietly distanced myself so he wouldn’t get hurt. Our little friendship faded exactly the way I forced it to, and by tenth grade, we had moved to another city.

Time moved on. Isha and I stayed in touch through letters—yes, handwritten letters—and friendship bands, later evolving into scheduled weekend online chats during college. I was in a hostel; she was at home. Life was happening.

One day, in a random Yahoo chat room, I spoke to someone who reminded me eerily of Ayaan. I could never find him again. I told Isha about it.

She laughed.

“You’re still hung up on Ayaan? The whole engineering department is waiting for a girl like you. And you’re stuck in the past?!”

I shrugged it off, but inside, something old and delicate stirred.

Years passed. We graduated. Got jobs. Became adults—sort of.

I started working in Delhi; Isha moved to Bombay.

One day she called, breathless.

“I have amazing news!”

I whispered (because my manager’s cabin was right in front of me), “Say it fast. I’m drowning in work.”

“I found Ayaan on Orkut!”

I nearly dropped the phone. “What? Why were you even searching for him?”

“For your epic love story, dummy!”

I went silent.

“Aren’t you excited? Hello?? What happened?? Does he have a girlfriend? Do you know something?”

Me (whispering even lower): “No… it’s just… I have a boyfriend.”

“What?! Since when??!”

“Very new. Details later. I have to go. Bye!

Later on, all of us school friends reconnected and eventually made a WhatsApp group- where old memories suddenly breathed again.

But life, with all its fast-moving lanes, never stopped me from dreaming about Ayaan. I would wake up some mornings floating—absolutely elated—because in my dreams, I got to live the love story my heart wrote years ago, the one that never actually played out in the real world.

First love is so pure… like a little child unaware of the world’s dirt and darkness. And I preserved that love in my dreams, untouched by reality. It stayed like my own secret fairytale—one I could visit forever.

But Ayaan’s next message tugged me straight back into the present:

Ayaan: Nothing wrong, I was just wondering about you. How are you??

A strange kind of warmth spread through me, melting dream-joy into reality. I typed back,

Me: I’m good… what made you think of me now, after so long?

Ayaan: 🙂

I immediately wondered if he had broken up or something. I mean, of course I had stalked a little—I knew he had a girlfriend.

Me: And how’s your job? And Radhika?

Ayaan: Everything is fine. I always feel people judge you for who you are…

And suddenly, I saw a window.

Wow. Emotional trouble alert. And I—being a great therapist in my own head—felt this was my chance to charm him (I swear I giggled inside). Not because I wanted a future with him; I never did. It was just that momentary pull… like spotting something on a shelf you once wanted, and instinctively checking for your wallet.

Me: Hey, come on. Friends don’t judge. You can talk to me. Something’s clearly bothering you.

Ayaan: Yes you say that now but…

Me: Look Ayaan, I’m actually getting worried now. What’s going on??

Ayaan: So you’re saying we can talk about anything? No judgements??

Me: Exactly. No judgements. I promise.

Ayaan: Okay!! Talk dirty to me..

My sleepy eyes shot wide open—it was already 1 a.m.

I reread the message. Twice.

Me: Are you drunk???

Ayaan: No!

My head started spinning. If it wasn’t alcohol, then what on earth explains messaging a long-lost school friend out of nowhere to ask for phone sex?

Me: Ayaan, I don’t understand…

Ayaan: I told you… nobody does.

That was it.

Fury boiled inside me. This man—my first love, the hero of my delicate fairy tale—had just twisted everything into a nightmare. I wanted to scream at him, curse him, tear him apart with my words. But nothing came out. My mind was frozen, overwhelmed.

I eventually fell asleep with my anger like a heavy stone on my chest.

The next morning was anything but normal.

Imagine waking up and feeling your entire belief system crack. There was an unseen notification from Ayaan:

Ayaan: you there??

My anger reignited instantly. I called Isha at once. She answered half-asleep, mumbling,

“Good morning… why are you up so early? Working weekends now?”

I broke down and told her everything. Call me stupid, but when your first love—your supposedly one true love—treats you like a sex worker, the tears come naturally. Isha first blasted Ayaan for being an unexpected, grade-A asshole… and then she scolded me for shedding tears over a loser like him. She wanted me to teach him a lesson, make him regret treating me that way.

But I didn’t know what I wanted. I just wanted to crawl out of this awful fog that had punched a hole straight through my heart.

My life was fine—good job, a relationship—but some things are perfect only in your head, not in the real world. And now, my perfect had been shattered. I had to live with reality.

Months passed. And then—surprisingly—I had my fairy tale dream again. The one I thought I had lost forever.

Surprisingly felt serene, untouched, as beautiful as before. And in that moment, I realised something:

These dreams were mine.

My Dreamworld belonged to me. Its characters may have been inspired by real people, but they carried the purity of my thoughts—not the scars of the outside world.. As long as you serve your time required for recovery life has to be normal again.

I couldn’t control the world outside, but

I could protect the one inside. And most importantly… I could protect my happiness...