The First Message
I never believed love could start with a simple click. A follow request. A name—Henry. Just like that, a stranger from Facebook slowly began to feel like fate.
I was fourteen, cautious, and still healing from the sting of heartbreak. My ex had cheated, leaving behind scars I wasn't ready to reopen. I promised myself I wouldn't fall in love again. But then Henry appeared, and with him came laughter—silly jokes, endless conversations, and a kind of warmth I hadn't felt before.
He was eighteen, older, more mature, yet surprisingly gentle with me. "Girls keep rejecting boys," he once said, "not knowing who's really going to love and take care of them." His words echoed in my heart, breaking through the wall I had built around myself. Against all odds, I decided to give him a chance.
We lived in different towns, so our love was born in distance and built on patience. I worked part-time at an eatery after school, hustling for my own little independence, and every message from Henry made the long hours easier. He promised never to take advantage of my innocence. He promised to wait.
And then one night, everything changed. Henry told me he was on his way to my town. My heart raced with a mix of fear and excitement. Hours later, he stood before me for the first time.
He was more than handsome—he was breathtaking. His dark eyes locked onto mine, his smile shy but sure, and in that moment I forgot every pain I had ever known. Henry called me "My Ella," and I realized I was already his.
That night, under the midnight sky, he kissed me. Our first kiss. The kind of kiss that makes you forget how young you are, how broken you've been, and how fragile love can be.