I never imagined that my life would take such a strange, painful turn. The long-haired guy who used to hang around the small prayer room on campus somehow became the person who accompanied me almost every Saturday night. We would spend hours on the phone, laughing, sharing the small dramas and mundane stories of my week at the boarding house where I stayed with my older sister. I only went home once a week because the campus was far away, and I shared a small room with my sister.
His name was Alex—quiet, awkward, sometimes unbearably silly, yet funny in a way that made me smile despite myself. We met during freshman orientation, and our connection continued through the rhythm of our daily classes. There was something about his ridiculous antics that made me feel less lonely, something comforting in the chaos of being far from home for the first time. I felt safe with him, even as I tried to understand the strange pull he had on me.
Despite the time we spent together, he never defined what we were. Friends and fellow students began assuming we were a couple. Even some of the girls in my boarding house teased me quietly, whispering behind my back. I decided I needed clarity. So one day, I mustered all my courage and asked him directly.
“Do you think of me as your girlfriend or not?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light, even joking. “If someone likes me, maybe they’ll back away thinking we’re together.”
To my surprise, he said, “Yes.”
I felt a mixture of relief and worry. I was glad to have clarity, yet I knew the truth behind his words was complicated. On campus, he acted distant, sometimes pretending not to know me at all. When I approached him, he would walk the other way. Some of his female friends teased him openly in front of me, hugging him, joking around, even climbing onto him. It made my blood boil, and our small boarding room became the arena for countless arguments.
Yet I forgave him. Again and again. His words, his small gestures, his laughter—they distracted me from the hurt he caused. I couldn’t help it. My heart was entangled with him, blinded by the novelty of first love.
One day, while tidying his bag in my room, a pink envelope fell out. The handwriting made me suspicious, so I opened it. My heart shattered. The letter was from his girlfriend on another island—his hometown. He visited there every few months with his family, and they shared a relationship that was never meant for me to know about. I was stunned, angry, humiliated—yet I still couldn’t let him go. I was foolish, hopelessly in love.
Then there was Daniel. A light during my darkest moments. He was a student at the English course where I worked part-time as a teaching assistant. Attentive, intelligent, gentle, and funny in ways that made me feel safe. Daniel listened to me, comforted me, and reminded me that there was still hope. He became my shield, the voice that reminded me life could be kind again.
When Alex and Daniel crossed paths in my room one day, I laughed, forgetting my weakness and fear. Alex noticed. Later, he asked hesitantly if I liked Daniel. I didn’t answer immediately. Then I confessed softly that I did. Alex only nodded and left.
After that, Alex visited less and less. Slowly, I found the courage to consider ending what was left of our relationship. One day, he returned the belongings I had left at his place and took back his things from my room. No drama. No shouting. He ended it himself.
Sitting across from me, holding my hand, apologizing, thanking me for the time we shared, he kissed me for the last time. He told me that he could let me go because I had already found someone else. I didn’t dwell on it then, but later, his words stung more than anything.
Five days later, Daniel asked me to be his girlfriend. Three months passed in happiness and calm, without the constant tears I had endured with Alex. Friends envied the way Daniel treated me—thoughtful, romantic, and attentive. Many remarked that Alex had been lucky to have me, even though he never truly deserved me.
One day, an old classmate—someone who had known Alex from the start—finally confessed something that had been hidden for a year and a half. Alex’s affection had not been real. He had only called me his girlfriend out of pity. The person he had truly loved… was my friend.
The truth cut deep, but I was no longer the same girl who cried alone in her room. I had endured pain, betrayal, and foolish love, and now I had grown. I had found someone who truly valued me, someone who reminded me of the joy I deserved. And for the first time in a long time, I felt free.
