She had never laid eyes on anyone who made her heart forget its rhythm before him. It wasn’t dramatic or loud, just a quiet unraveling that began in her chest and slowly rewrote everything she thought she knew about love. He became her first in ways she didn’t yet understand, her first longing, her first softness, her first mistake. She was too young to know that some loves do not wait for courage, and too careful to realize that silence can be its own kind of goodbye. By the time she understood what he truly was to her, he was already becoming a memory. And memories, she would learn, can ache more deeply than loss itself.