The Beginning
The Good We Had!
I still remember the first time you walked into class.
You hadn’t even said a word, but something in me whispered,
“This one’s going to be trouble.”
Not in a dramatic way, in a soul-pulling way.
The kind of trouble that doesn’t destroy you,
But doesn’t leave you the same.
Then came event Night.
We prepared for it together
laughing, planning, exchanging traumatic stories about our childhoods like we had known each other forever. And realising we had a similar childhood
That night didn’t just bring an event to life; it sparked something between us.
A connection.
It wasn’t loud or dramatic.
It was instantly familiar.
The kind of bond that sneaks up on you and suddenly feels like home.
We started having feelings.
But I knew and you were honest that you were coming out of something heavy.
One day, we sat together on a bench.
You hugged me.
We talked.
You told me you weren’t ready.
That you were still not over your ex.
It was painful.
That we should stay friends.
You had spoken to your friend Jackson about it.
And it was April 2017, these moments are still etched in my memory.
Even though I liked you, I respected you more for that.
And that’s probably when I felt truly drawn to you, not because I thought I could “fix” anything,
But because I saw something real in you.
Wounded, maybe, but real.
Get MAK’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
When I found out your flight dates back to our country, I quietly booked mine to match.
We ended up on the same flights from Cyprus to Ankara to our hometown.
We weren’t anything yet not officially, but we were something.
There was a comfort in the familiarity between us.
Even at the airport, we had these little shared moments.
We laughed, smoked, and joked around.
You stuck close to your friends, and I noticed how they teased you about me.
You looked at me differently, but still tried to play it cool.
It was bittersweet, like we both knew something was there,
But we weren’t quite sure what to do with it.
When we landed in Pakistan, we walked out into the night
You with your family, I with my friend.
You looked a little anxious, like you were trying not to show anything.
And I didn’t get it then, but I still smiled and left without question.
Because that’s what I did with you.
I gave you space, even when I wanted closeness.
Later, we stayed in touch on Snapchat.
You would reply to my stories, send little messages — nothing big, but consistent.
Like a gentle tug on a thread that never quite broke.
I remember you once told me you dreamt of me.
Funny thing is… I dreamt of you, too.
After Cyprus, something about seeing him in our home town made me feel at peace. It was different. Softer. Familiar.
He came to my mom’s salon, got a facial, and had his hair done. My mom did it for him herself. I was just watching, quietly happy, as if the universe had brought something full circle. There was something about him being in my home city, around my family space, that made it feel more real. I do not even think he realized how much that meant to me.
Later that month, I told him I might not return. My mom’s health was not well, and I needed to be there for her. I expected a polite nod, some distant response. But instead, he was persistent. Genuinely concerned. He kept asking, “But why will you not come back? She will be fine. She is strong. You should come.”
He asked me more than once if I would be returning. I did not say much then, but I remember that small ache of being wanted, like my presence mattered to someone. It stayed with me.
