True Love

In middle school, a friend of mine had once asked me over coffee if I had believed in true love.

It was a quaint café and the simple atmosphere must have been enough for him to start randomly asking questions, considering that he asked me, out of all people, if I believed in true love.

Thinking back to all the horrible incidents that plagued my mind every night, I naturally opened my mouth and told him.

"No."

If true love actually existed, then what's with all the 'true love' couples breaking up or cheating on one another? If true love actually existed, then why do friends eventually lose contact with each other?

…If true love actually existed, then why did mom and dad decide to leave me all alone?

Don't give me that bullshit about true love.

I gritted my teeth, taking an angry sip of the black coffee that I had every time I went out with my friend, explaining why true love couldn't exist. I highlighted all sorts of abuse cases, cheaters, betrayals, talking animatedly while he listened.

Sometime after I finished my little rant, he laughed. I glared at him furiously for a second, annoyed that my explanation seemed to mean nothing to him.

It made sense, in a way. For him to brush this off casually. He had never had to deal with the sort of pain that came with this so called love, having had an amazing start. He would probably have an amazing end as well if I thought about it.

Perhaps the only stain in his life was me, in my messed up, torn up glory.

Coming to that realisation, I looked away, not wanting to look him in the eyes. Sometimes, he glowed a little too splendidly.

That was the reason I didn't realise when he had taken my hand, placing a kiss on it softly. It was a gentle kiss, one filled with a sort of emotion that I didn't recognise at all. I froze in place, confused at this sudden advancement.

He then leaned forward, hand now covering my own and whispered in my ear. "Then is it okay if I prove you wrong?"

With that, he stood up, holding his coffee and my first kiss in one hand, and a goal to make me believe in another.

Walking away, he left me there to think about everything that happened, my kissed hand against my chest and shock written on my face.

That was my first brush with whatever could be called 'love'.

Over the years, he slowly opened up to me more, becoming one of the friends that I had actually kept, our bond never eroding in the midst of time.

He was also my long-time admirer for some unknown reason, courting me with flowers, movies, vacations, talks that happened on the beach, and gave me all his attention and warmth that I had never gotten in any other situation. He knew when to back off when he needed to back off and was always polite and considerate for my emotions.

Like a prince from a fairy tale.

Was this love? I never dared to ask him after his declaration all those years back. And he never said anything either, perhaps out of courtesy to me. He was always like that, kind and gentle and everything that I never thought I could have.

But I was really sceptical.

Although I had said that it was because of those… things that happened in the past that I didn't believe in something like true love, the truth was something else entirely. Well, not exactly, but I like to believe that I'm not influenced by my past.

I was just scared. Scared of being left alone again. Scared that he was just pretending, scared that he was just screwing around, scared that he would one day just stop. After all, there was no way a person would be able to love someone like me, a mess of a human being that couldn't do anything right.

Still, his kind words tilted me over the edge, making my heart run with that same unknown emotion he had once kissed my hand with. I really wanted to trust in him, causing my logic and emotions to be at a strange war.

I want to be with him.

But what if you get hurt again.

It doesn't matter, he won't do something like that.

But what if he did?

You have no evidence, he had been nothing but kind.

Maybe he is kind to everyone.

Words swirled in my head, forcing me to always take a step back whenever I think that I'm getting too close to him.

So we stayed in this stalemate for a long, long time. Long enough that we started working, long enough that I started to settle down with my thoughts and emotions. However, I could never take the last step with him.

Maybe it's been too long? What happens if he doesn't like me anymore? What do I do then?

Then something decided for me.

I had burst into the hospital room when I heard the news. A crash, they had said on the phone. Apparently I was his emergency contact number, so they needed me to come right now.

I did what I had to. I dropped everything I had to do, leaving it to my secretary and rushed to the ER, where he was lying down peacefully in bed, the heart rate monitor beeping slowly.

It took a while to contact me, as apparently his phone was thrown somewhere far away when he got hit.

Shock hit me, the same type of shock as the one that I got hit by when he confessed all those years back. I spent those few nights by his bed, sleeping hunched over waiting for him to wake up, crying silently. Then, I pushed myself out from my daze, resolving to be the one that helped him this time.

And with that resolve, I realised some things that weren't obvious to me before.

It apparently wasn't just me that was betrayed by love. I had never realised this, caught up in all my own problems, but I had never seen his family with him either.

I only assumed that he had a great family, coming from a rich place with everything he could possibly want. I watched the news sometimes and saw his famous parents, talking about their son lovingly and full of it themselves.

However, he was kind of similar to me, seeing as no one appeared by his bedside to mourn his accident, even though the bills were paid automatically. I wondered if I had seen wrong, all those years ago.

So, if he had come from a place similar to mine, devoid of love, why did he believe in love so much?

Why did he decide that loving me was worth it? I ruminated over that question.

He eventually woke up after a few months, a miracle, according to the doctors. I was there as he opened his eyes, focusing on me the moment he did.

At that instance, when all my waiting paid off, I felt this sudden sense of relief. His blurry eyes slowly cleared up as I smiled, tears falling down my face.

"Hey there sleepyhead." As he seemed to try and smile, this overwhelming feeling burst out of my heart. And I knew that.

This was love.

Through waiting just like he did, I finally realised why my heart had been overcome with those strange emotions back in the past. I had already loved him for a long time, longer then I had realised.

He had won me over with his love. And I had fallen deep, deep to the depts of the world.

So I thought to myself.

This time I'll wait. Just this once, I'll put down all my barriers and fully embrace this feeling. I'll wait until he has fully healed and then I will confess and tell him that I loved him.

I placed my coffee down on the table in front of him. It was our favourite café. Due to his accident, we hadn't been here in a long time, so I was elated to be back here with him.

He looked a little worse for wear then usual, but that was obvious, considering that he had just been discharged a few days back. I placed his usual order in front of him, taking the seat opposite him.

We chatted for a while before I finally broke the question.

"Hey, do you remember what you said to me all those years back? That you'll make me believe in 'true love', or something?"

He seemed to flinch for a moment, nervously swirling his coffee before taking a sip.

"Is this about the flirting that I have been doing for the past… few years? I'm sorry, if you really don't like it I can stop, you know I'll always respect your opinion—"

"Congrats. You've made me believe in it."

Why did he decide that loving me was worth it? That question was probably something I'll never be able to answer. Maybe he was loveless, like me when he was young.

Maybe he just wanted attention. Or maybe he was just playing with my younger self.

Whatever the answer was, did it matter? He had stayed with me for longer then most people, always loving and loving for a reason I didn't know of. Whatever reason he might have started off with was probably not the reason why he stayed.

There were many things that I still didn't know, but…

I did know this.

"So, take responsibility."

That he was my best friend.

"What?"

And my future lover.

"What? I, I mean yes! Yes!" His eyes lit up like the fireworks in the night sky. He then seemed to think of something, laughing as he picked up the hand that I had placed on the table, planting a small kiss on it.

Eyes glinting happily, he teased me.

"So, did I make you believe in true love after all?"

I simply laughed, taking a sip of my peppermint mocha.

"Do you really have to ask?"

Sweet.