12 Steps to Not Fall in Love on Wattpad

ᴛʜᴇ "ʙᴇꜱᴛ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛ ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴇᴛ" ᴛʏᴘᴇ 💌

When I was a kid, my favorite birthday gifts were books and Barbies for my collection. Simple, predictable, easy to please. 

Then I grew up, and suddenly, all I wanted was recognition. To feel important. To have people see me. I dreamed of getting hundreds of birthday wishes on Facebook, friends telling me how much they loved having me around, likes and reads on my Wattpad stories. (Thankfully, I had the brilliant idea of deleting my first draft before anyone important found it. That thing was tragic, and I still cringe when I remember it.) 

I was always the quiet, smart one people kept around because she was useful. Never the center of attention, never the one people actually noticed. My only claim to relevance was being a good student, and that was the only reason people knew my name. 

I spent years envying the girls who had it easy. The ones who could walk into a room and talk to anyone without worrying about being ignored or rejected. The effortlessly social, the effortlessly liked. The ones who just fit. 

My best friends were that type of girl, and I tried so hard to be one of them. And for a while, I thought I was. I had friends. People paid attention to me and my name was known by the entire school—not because I suddenly became cool, but because I was the first senior selected for an elite high school. My strength had finally gotten me somewhere, and I was convinced I’d thrive. At least, that was something. Right?

I was wrong. 

At first, it was okay. My friends were there, I made new ones, and my grades were solid. I thought I had finally cracked the code, that I was past all the social struggles... that I belonged. 

That's when I lost everything. 

I lost my friends. My ability to focus. My motivation. My will to try. I became a ghost, drifting through the hallways, absorbing nothing. 

School became a routine I barely participated in. I’d sit in class, pretending to understand, then rush home to lose myself in books—books that took me somewhere else, somewhere I wasn’t me.

Somewhere I was something and people actually liked me. 

Somewhere I liked myself. 

But reality caught up with me. My grades slipped. I had to repeat junior year. And that’s when the anxiety truly sank its claws in. 

I couldn’t finish high school. Being around people made me paranoid. Every laugh felt like it was about me. Every glance felt like judgment. My own body became the enemy—I’d start sweating, then panic about the sweating, then spiral into a full-blown breakdown. I avoided crowded places. I avoided leaving home at all. 

I quit school. I quit working. I became a prisoner inside my own body, my mind the jailer. 

Mom tried to help. Grandma even lied to the headmistress to get me another chance. They took me to psychologists. They fought for me. 

But I was stuck. 

No matter how much I wanted to move forward, my mind always found a way to drag me back down. 

Until one day, I decided enough was enough. 

I started fighting my way back—slowly, painfully, stubbornly. And then, just as I was learning how to exist again, she appeared. 

Lily. 

I was terrified. Terrified that she’d mess with my plans, that she’d ruin my progress, that I wasn’t ready for this. That I wasn’t enough. 

I wasn’t popular. I wasn’t the prettiest girl she’d ever seen. I wasn’t the smartest. I had only just gotten my high school diploma after years of being a dropout. My mind was still fragile.

What could she possibly see in me?

The sound of my phone buzzing interrupts my thoughts and I glance at the table, seeing the notifications show up in my lock screen. 

Lily: Hi

Lily: I see you

Lily: You don’t need to respond, just know that I love your cute ass 

Lily: You look amazing 

Lily: Like wow

Lily: Damn girl

Lily: So damn cuuuuuuuute

Lily: CUTE 
 

I stared at the last message, my heart doing that thing it always did when she texted me. 

I didn’t understand.

Probably never would.

She could have anyone—any amazing, wonderful woman—but somehow, she ended up with me and makes sure I know she's proud of it. That she doesn't care that I'm a bit more broken than any of her past girlfriends.

I think that might be the best birthday gift I could ever get.