I was flipping through my old high school photos when the past hit me with a force I wasn’t ready for. Twenty years gone, yet the faces, colors, even the embarrassing jokes were still sharp as glass. And then I saw him.
Dorian Reed.
My first love. My longest crush. The boy I thought I would marry one day.
Back then, I was hopelessly obsessed. Slipping him notes, leaving valentines in his bag, basically embarrassing myself daily because teenage me believed dramatic gestures equaled destiny. I had our whole future planned out.
Until senior year—when he vanished. No explanation, no goodbye, nothing. Just gone.
And I was left shattered.
I’m 38 now, still single, still flinching at the memory of that disappearance. Ridiculous? Maybe. But some wounds don’t fade—they wait.
The doorbell rang. My best friend, Kerensa, walked in like she owned the world.
“You ready for the reunion?” she asked.
I hesitated. “I don’t know. I saw old photos. Saw Dorian.”
She sighed. “You’re still hung up on him?”
“I’m not hung up,” I muttered. “It just… reopened things.”
Kerensa squeezed my shoulder. “He might not even show. And even if he does, you’re not there for him. You’re there for you.”
I nodded. Still, the knot in my chest wouldn’t loosen.
The drive was torture. My stomach churned. My fingers wouldn’t stop tapping. When we parked, I checked my reflection—hair neat, dress smooth, smile weak.
“Pomeline,” Kerensa said gently, “don’t give him power he doesn’t deserve.”
Inside, the reunion pulsed with laughter and nostalgia. I relaxed—until I saw him.
Dorian.
Older, broader, a little rugged. But the same deep eyes. The same quiet warmth. Our gazes locked, and he smiled—like no time had passed, like my heartbreak had never existed.
My breath caught.
Kerensa instantly pulled me away. “Ignore him,” she whispered. “Tonight isn’t about him.”
Easy for her to say.
Hours passed with laughter and small talk. For a while, I forgot. Until Kerensa spilled her drink all over herself.
“Ugh! I’m going to clean this,” she groaned, storming off.
Finally alone, I slipped outside, walking to the old bench near the school yard—the place where I used to sit and fantasize about my future with Dorian.
Funny how life flips things upside down.
I sat, letting the cool air quiet my thoughts. Then footsteps approached.
I turned.
Dorian.
“Hey, Pomeline,” he said softly. “Mind if I sit?”
My heart thudded. “Go ahead.”
He sat just far enough to be respectful. “Didn’t think you’d want to talk,” he said.
“Well… didn’t think you would either. Considering senior year.”
His eyebrows pulled together. “Senior year? I thought you were the one who blew me off.”
My breath froze. “What?”
“I left you a note,” he said slowly. “Asked you to meet me at the park. You never came. I figured you didn’t want anything to do with me.”
A cold shiver ran through me. “Dorian… I never got a note.”
He frowned deeper. “I put it in your locker. Kerensa gave me your answer. She said you weren’t interested.”
My chest cracked open. “That can’t be right. Kerensa never—”
Footsteps again.
Kerensa stood at the edge of the path, pale, guilty, eyes wide with panic.
“Keren…” I whispered. “What is he talking about?”
She swallowed, voice trembling. “Pomeline… I—I thought he liked me. I was jealous. I didn’t think he liked you back. I never thought it would matter.”
“You told him I rejected him?” My voice broke. “You broke us apart over jealousy?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I was stupid. I didn’t know it would haunt you for twenty years.”
“Go,” I said quietly. Too hurt to scream. Too stunned to cry. “Just go.”
She backed away in tears, disappearing into the reunion lights.
Silence fell.
Dorian turned back to me, gentle and earnest. “I’m sorry she did that to you. I would’ve shown up, Pomeline. Every day until you changed your mind.”
The ache inside me cracked open. “All this time, I thought you didn’t care.”
“And all this time,” he said, “I thought you didn’t want me.”
We sat there, twenty lost years between us—heavy, but suddenly illuminated by the truth.
Then he reached out, placing his hand over mine. Warm. Steady.
“We can’t change what happened,” he said softly. “But we don’t have to lose another twenty years.”
I looked at him. The boy I’d loved was gone, yes—but the man sitting beside me… he felt familiar in a way that made my chest ache.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “We can decide what comes next.”
We stayed on that old bench long after the reunion ended—talking, laughing, reconnecting piece by piece.
Not rushing. Not clinging to nostalgia.
Just two hearts finally unburdening themselves.
And for the first time in forever, the past let go of me.
Maybe—just maybe—something new could finally begin.