I can still remember the first time I cared about how I looked in the mirror.
Not because I suddenly thought I was pretty, but because I realized someone might be watching.
Puberty had a way of making everything feel new and awkward at once. My voice got softer, my body changed, and for the first time, I started wondering if anyone would ever notice me for more than just the girl who answered questions in class or shared her snacks at lunch.
Then there was him.
The first boy who made my stomach twist and my cheeks heat up. He wasn't the most handsome boy in school, but to me, he was everything. The way he laughed like the world was his, the way he looked at everyone like they were worth something… except me.
I thought if I just tried hard enough, smiled more, dressed nicer, became the kind of girl he'd look at he'd notice.
But when he finally did, it was only to ask if I could "talk to my friend for him."
That was the first time I felt it.
That sting.
The quiet ache of realizing I wasn't the one people wanted, just the one they wanted something from.
And maybe that's where it all started the pattern I didn't even know I was creating.
Always the girl they came to when they were lonely, bored, or broken… but never the girl they stayed for.
Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.
I didn't know it then, but that moment would shape everything that came after, the way I saw love, the way I saw myself, the way I let people treat me.
And if I had known?
Maybe I would've walked away sooner.
Or maybe I would've just tried harder.
After that day, I learned to swallow the ache.
I laughed when my friends talked about their crushes, pretended it didn't hurt when I helped pick out outfits for their dates. I even convinced myself it was okay that maybe love just wasn't my thing yet.
But then came fifteen.
My first "real" boyfriend.
He told me I was different, that I made him feel "calm." I believed him, because back then, I thought love was about being what someone else needed. I listened, I forgave, I stayed quiet when his eyes wandered to other girls in class.
And when he broke up with me for someone "more exciting," I cried for two months straight… and then told everyone I was fine.
I was always "fine."
By sixteen , I had mastered the role.
The understanding girl.
The one who never made a scene, never demanded too much, never got chosen but always got called when someone was lonely. I was the secret keeper, the comfort zone, the "you're so easy to be around" girl. which, in reality, meant I was the one they could forget without guilt.
Somewhere along the line, I started believing that maybe this was just my place in the world. To love quietly, to never be enough for someone to stay, to always be the almost.
And maybe I would've kept accepting it forever… if not for the night everything changed.