I was fourteen years old when I met Anika. I fell in love with her first.
We were young and reckless; I did everything to make her happy.
I made every single effort count just so she could remember how much she meant to me.
She was tall and beautiful, but she was no damsel.
She was a fighter. She’s trained in Muay Thai respectively.
I was just a simple, ordinary boy. I do admit, I did have charm.
I couldn’t believe she chose me over all the boys in my high school. The boys went gesticulate over her.
I went so far towards her. I did things she would have wanted even if she never asked for it.
She loved me.
But I fell in love with her first.
Things were going on well until one day.
That was the day we started to fall apart.
I wanted more. I wanted to feel her. I wanted to touch her but she wouldn’t give in.
I thought, maybe, she didn’t love me at all.
As a boy, I never understood, really.
Maybe, I was never in love.
Maybe it was just my hormones.
Probably infatuation.
She started being hysterical. Her trust in me began to diminish as days went by.
We fought a lot. We screamed at each other. She began hitting me in a controlled way.
She was falling apart.
I didn’t care.
I stopped caring.
She continued to love me.
I insisted for more.
She denied me once more.
I realized I had to give up. If she wouldn’t do this for me, then I’m going to have to leave her.
But part of me didn’t want to. Part of me wanted to stay with this innocent girl.
Of course, I wasn’t the same guy she met two years ago.
Maybe because I fell in love with her first.
I started lying to her. I started hiding things from her.
She knew later on.
She had it going. She kept it in. She held on to me.
And I didn’t care.
I was getting bored.
I started cheating on her for fun.
I was with other girls.
And I did things we never would have done with Anika.
I kissed girls.
I played with their hair.
I touched the back of their neck.
I smelled their forehead.
And she only found out about it later on. Again.
She wept.
For me.
For her.
For us.
She wept because she regretted she said yes to become mine.
And I didn’t care. Again.
I just let her be, pretending, giving false efforts just to make her stop.
I continued to cheat.
One day a friend told her I’ve been holding hands with a girl before she was with her.
Anika confronted me.
She wept. Again.
I stood there, watching her, without giving a damn.
She screamed, she rolled, she cried,
She begged, “I love you.”
She begged.
She begged.
She begged.
Everything in those three words in our two years.
I just stared at her glumly.
She felt disappointed. Sad. Betrayed.
She must have lost it, because she punched me.
Punched me hard.
I fell to the ground. She ran by my side. She helped me up. All those memories we had suddenly vanished just because of anger. I pushed her away and helped myself. We were silent for a while.
She asked me if I was okay.
I said I was.
She smiled.
She tried to hug me. But I declined the warmth of her arms. I became cold to her. I whisper-shouted at her saying I was going to report her to the prefect for excessive bullying.
Heavy tears started to form in her eyes.
She kneeled down and begged.
But she did not beg for love this time.
She begged for another chance.
She was sorry she punched me.
I ignored her and walked away;
But she caught up and went down again to hold me in the legs.
She wept again.
I budged and I escaped her grip.
Her fighter grip.
I shoved her down and she was hurt.
I didn’t care.
She cried and cried and asked me to stay.
She didn’t want to get kicked out because she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in another school without me.
Without me, the cheating boyfriend.
I told her, ‘I’m done.”
And left her for good.
I reported her the following morning, of course.
She was kicked out by the end of the week.
I felt so great, so relieved to be free from the thing that’s causing me affliction.
But a apart of me missed her.
I started doing things she liked.
And that ended up until I was 26.
Now I’m standing in the back of the church with tears rolling down my face.
I was finally able to see my Anika after twelve years.
But these weren’t tears of joy. These were tears of sorrow.
It was my turn to weep. But it was too late to beg.
And I wasn’t even invited.
Because now she’s getting married to a successful man who deserves her more than I do.
And she’s smiling now.
I don’t understand why I did that after all these years.
Maybe because I fell in love with her first.
