I was only nineteen.
Innocent, a little stupid, and carrying a heart that believed love could last forever.
I went on that trip with my first love and one of my closest friends. Everything about those few days felt like something out of a film. Every conversation, every walk, every little moment made my heart flutter in ways I had never experienced before.
He was tall enough that when I hugged him, I could hear his heartbeat.
I felt small in his arms. I felt protected.
I remember something that still makes me smile.
Before the trip, my friend packed my entire suitcase because I was hopeless at choosing clothes. Suddenly I found myself wearing outfits I would never have picked for myself. I kept checking my reflection, adjusting my hair every few minutes, trying so hard to look beautiful.
He noticed.
Smiling, he asked,
“Why are you behaving so differently? Why are you suddenly so conscious about yourself? Just be you. That’s the person I love.”
I don’t think he ever realised how much those words meant to me.
The smile they brought stayed with me for the rest of the trip.
We trekked through beautiful landscapes, laughed endlessly, held hands whenever the climb became difficult, and shared bottles of water without thinking twice. Our friend captured those moments on his camera while we simply lived them.
At one point, I hurt myself slightly, and he carried me in his arms.
It was the first time anyone had ever done that.
People often assume memories like these become painful with time.
But they don’t.
Not always.
When I look at it now, I don’t feel sadness.
I simply smile.
Because for a little while, I got to experience a kind of love that made a nineteen-year-old girl believe the world was incredibly beautiful.
And somehow…
I’m grateful it happened, even if it didn’t last.
