The Day Everything Changed
They say high school is the best time of your life. That's a lie. Not when you fall for someone you're not supposed to. Not when it ends before it even really begins.
Her name was Brittany.
And everything changed the day she smiled at me like I wasn't invisible.
We were just classmates at first—random faces in a crowded hallway, barely nodding at each other. I noticed her before she ever looked twice at me. The way she always tucked her hair behind her ear. The way she tilted her head when she laughed. She had this calm energy, like she didn't need to shout to be heard. She was just… there. And somehow, that was enough.
Our first real interaction wasn't romantic. It was awkward. A group assignment thrown together by a lazy teacher who didn't care about compatibility. But maybe fate did. Because that dumb drama skit changed everything.
She was the one who broke the silence when we were paired. "I hope you can act," she said, smiling. I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded. But my hands were already sweating.
Working on that skit meant spending time after school. Talking. Laughing. Arguing over lines. We started to figure each other out. I learned she hated onions but loved onion rings. She found out I wrote poems and never shared them. She was fascinated by K-dramas, I was obsessed with J. Cole. We didn't make sense—but somehow, we did.
The more we talked, the harder I fell. And I didn't even realize how deep I was until one random afternoon when she reached out and touched my arm while laughing. Just a touch. But it sent something wild through me.
A week later, I said it.
"I think I like you, Brittany."
I expected her to laugh. Or walk away. Or say "I don't feel the same." But she didn't.
She looked at me for a long second and said, "I know."
And just like that… I was gone.
We didn't start dating. Not officially. But there were looks in class, hidden notes in books, whispered jokes during assembly. She started waiting for me after school. I started walking her halfway home. It wasn't much. But to a teenage heart, it was everything.
She once said, "My dad wouldn't like this." She laughed after she said it, but I saw something flicker in her eyes. I ignored it. I wish I hadn't.
Her dad was strict. Everyone knew it. He picked her up from school sometimes and barely acknowledged her friends. He didn't trust anyone. Especially not boys. Especially not a boy like me.
When he found out about us—about me—he didn't come to the school or ask for a meeting.
He called her phone.
We were in the library. Studying—or pretending to. Her phone rang. She looked at it and went pale. "My dad," she said. "Give me a second."
She stepped out. I stayed, heart thumping. I could hear the muffled shouting from where I sat.
When she came back, her hands were shaking.
"He knows," she said.
"What did he say?"
She didn't answer. Just stared at the books like she was reading words that weren't there.
That was the last normal day we had.
The next day, she wasn't in school.
The day after that, she was still missing.
By the third day, her friend told me the truth.
"He's furious," she said. "He said he'll report you if you ever talk to her again."
"Report me? For what?"
"You know Nigerian dads. He said it's harassment. That he warned her. That you're a distraction."
I couldn't believe it. I wasn't some thug. I never touched her inappropriately. I didn't pressure her. I just liked her. That was all.
But to him, I was a threat.
And Brittany… she disappeared.
No calls. No texts. Her phone stopped ringing. Her social media went quiet. It was like she vanished.
At first, I thought she was grounded. That she'd come back.
But weeks passed. And nothing.
Her desk stayed empty. Her name stopped being called. Teachers moved on. Friends got used to her absence.
I didn't.
Every hallway screamed her name. Every lesson reminded me of something we'd joked about. Every silence was filled with her memory.
I stopped eating properly. My grades dropped. I barely talked to anyone.
"You okay, Brover?" people would ask.
"I'm good," I'd lie.
I wasn't.
I missed her laugh. I missed her voice. I missed how she used to steal my pen and forget to give it back.
I missed how she made me feel less… alone.
High school can be loud. Crowded. Noisy. But when the one person who made it bearable is gone, it becomes the loneliest place on earth.
I used to walk past her old house after school. Not close—just across the street. I never saw her. But I hoped.
Sometimes, I'd sit behind the science block after school. Hoodie up. Earphones in. Listening to the same sad song over and over.
I didn't cry.
But I wanted to.
Because how do you grieve someone who's still alive?
How do you move on from a "what if"?
People said I was being dramatic.
"She wasn't your girlfriend," they said.
"You're still young."
"You'll meet someone else."
But they didn't get it.
She was the first person who saw me. Really saw me. Not the grades. Not the jokes. Not the name on the attendance sheet.
She saw me. And she still liked me.
That's rare.
And losing that?
It broke something inside me.
I started writing again. Not poems this time—letters. Long ones. To her. I never sent them. Just wrote them and tucked them into a shoebox under my bed.
"Dear Brittany," they always started.
Some were angry. Some were sad. Some were just quiet.
But they all ended the same.
"I miss you."
I heard she transferred. A different school, far enough that we'd never run into each other by accident.
I wondered if she hated me. If she regretted ever letting me in.
Or maybe… she missed me too.
But I'll never know.
All I know is that life hasn't been the same since she left.
I haven't been the same.
I still laugh sometimes. Still joke around. Still show up to class.
But it's all… different.
Because she's not here.
And no one else has eyes like hers.