I didn’t know love could begin in a single glance, but when our eyes met, something shifted in the air. The world blurred at the edges, as if reality itself had chosen to pause, to take a breath and watch. I remember the way your hair caught the afternoon light, the way your smile arrived just a little too late, as if you, too, were hesitating—uncertain but intrigued.
I had heard of love at first sight,
the kind that exists in songs, in whispered stories, in pages of books where hearts collide like stars. But I had never believed in it.
Love, I thought, was something that grew
slowly, carefully, like roots sinking into earth. Not this. Not this sudden, terrifying certainty that somehow, even without knowing your name, I already knew you would be important.
I stood there, caught between the past and the future, between the person I had been and the one I might become. Did you feel it too? The moment stretching endlessly, pulling us forward into something unknown?
I wanted to speak, to say something clever, something perfect, but my throat closed, and my hands fumbled
with the weight of all the words I hadn’t yet learned.
And then, you laughed—soft, surprised,
as if the universe had let a secret slip between us. And just like that, the world was set into motion again. Time moved forward, as it always does,
but something inside me stayed behind,
caught forever in the moment we first met.
