Chapter Text
First heartbreaks are never easy.
They carve deep, lingering hollows in your chest that no one else seems to notice. Some people get over it—or at least pretend they do. Others, like me, just… don’t.
It’s been two years since it ended. I’ve just turned twenty.
And I still can’t let go of him.
Maybe I didn’t know him well enough. I was young, naive—maybe even foolish. Maybe I scared him off without realizing it.
Maybe.
Do I regret falling in love with him?
No.
I’m not afraid to admit it—I don’t regret loving him. What I do hate is this unbearable truth: that I can’t get over him, no matter how hard I try.
Back then, I truly thought he was the one.
Maybe he wasn’t.
But I still remember everything—the way you do with people who mark you without warning. It was the summer before senior year. I’d enrolled in a computer course, eager to gain a new skill or two. That’s when I saw him for the first time.
His eyes.
His smile.
His voice.
Everything about him is seared into my memory, like a song I can’t stop humming.
Some say I’m obsessed. Some even joke that I sound psychotic. But I’m not. I’m just hopelessly in love with someone who no longer belongs to me. That’s what makes it hurt. Even holding someone else's hand feels wrong—because it’s not his hand.
My best friend calls it unhealthy, says I should move on. But love doesn’t come with an off-switch. You don’t get to pick who you stay in love with. Love is unpredictable. It’s delicate. You build it slowly—if you want it to last.
I didn’t.
I rushed it.
And I lost him.
He was the kindest, most thoughtful person I’d ever known. I wish I had taken it slower. Maybe—just maybe—we’d still be together if I had.
Maybe.
I was standing at the bus stop that day, tapping my foot impatiently on the cracked pavement, when I saw him for the first time.
He was wearing a faded black David Bowie – Space Oddity T-shirt, and he had the most captivating eyes I’d ever seen. I couldn’t stop staring. It was hopeless from the beginning.
He leaned against the pillar, focused on his phone. He was tall—maybe 5'11", could’ve been six feet. I was only 5'8" back then, though I’ve grown since.
(Oh, and I started calling him Bowie in my mind. It just… fit.)
I looked down at my worn-out blue Converse, the same pair I’d been wearing since eighth grade. When the bus pulled in, Bowie climbed in first. I followed, sitting a few rows ahead of him, diagonally across. He was furiously typing on his phone.
I know—I sound like some overdramatic high school kid, which I was. My eighteenth birthday was still a month away. But honestly, I’ve never understood the obsession with turning 18. Being an adult isn’t about age—it’s about experience.
As I reached for my wallet, I noticed Bowie fiddling with a large bill. The bus conductor didn’t have change for something that big—he never did. I always carried coins, so I leaned over and said,
“I have some change if you want.”
He looked up—surprised, maybe a little flustered.
“Um… no, thank you. You don’t have to—but thanks.”
I smiled, shrugged, and paid for both tickets anyway.
He looked at me, brows furrowed. “Hey—you didn’t have to, but… thank you.”
“It’s okay. You can pay for mine tomorrow,” I grinned. “Or just buy me a sandwich.”
He laughed. “And how do you know I’ll be here tomorrow?”
I cringed.
God, I was foolish.
“Right. Sorry,” I mumbled, turning to stare out the window. That’s when I felt someone slide into the seat beside me.
It was him.
“So… do you know David Bowie?” he asked, his voice light.
I turned to him and said, “Ziggy Stardust is a great song.”
He beamed—like full-on, eyes-crinkling smile.
“You’re a Bowie fan then?” I asked.
He nodded. “Biggest one you’ll ever meet.”
“I don’t usually take this bus,” he added. “Just running late today. But I guess it worked out—I met a cutie like you.”
I’m sure I turned red right then and there.
“Well, Major Tom,” I said, standing up, “this is my stop.”
He smirked. “Guess I’ll see you around, Percy Jackson.”
I froze mid-step.
Holy shit.
He’d noticed the Percy Jackson comic I’d been clutching the whole time.
Shit.
Robbe IJzermans, you’re in deep trouble.