PART 1 :The Beginning of a Delusional Love”

 

Part One: The Beginning of My Delusional Love 

Love has a strange way of walking into our lives. Sometimes it arrives quietly, almost unnoticed, and sometimes it shakes the ground beneath our feet. For me, it was the second kind. I never imagined that a simple friendship, some ordinary conversations, and a handful of shared moments would turn into a story that would define so much of my life. This is the story of how I fell for Jenny—my “Dove,” my idol, my closest friend, and the one who left me with both the sweetest memories and the deepest pain.

When I look back, the beginning feels so innocent. I was just another boy with ordinary dreams, carrying the heavy weight of expectations and the desire to become something in life. I wanted to be a doctor, not just because of ambition, but because I wanted to heal, to prove myself, to rise from the limits of my world. Jenny, on the other hand, was so different. She had that effortless confidence, that graceful presence, and a way of talking that made her stand apart from everyone around her. She was 148 cm tall, small in height but towering in spirit. And in my eyes, she was perfect.

The first time I truly noticed her, it was not because of something extraordinary she did, but because of how natural she was. She didn’t try to impress, she didn’t try to show off, yet she shined brighter than anyone else. Her words carried warmth, her silences carried meaning, and even the way she said the simplest things made me feel like I was listening to music. I used to think that beauty lies in appearances, but Jenny taught me that beauty lives in confidence, in the way someone carries themselves, and in the quiet strength behind their eyes.

Slowly, our chats began. At first, they were ordinary, just the kind of messages any two friends exchange—small jokes, study discussions, little updates about the day. But behind those words, my heart was learning something new. I realized I looked forward to her replies more than anything else. I began saving her messages, re-reading them when I felt low, and overthinking every little word she wrote. If she delayed a reply, my mind would run in circles. If she replied quickly, I would smile like a child. It was a kind of attachment I had never known before.

Jenny, though, was calm. She was never one to argue much, never one to create drama. Even when I became emotional or childish in front of her, she tried to maintain peace. She had this maturity that made me feel both protected and small at the same time. She knew I loved her. She must have felt it in the way I spoke, in the way I admired her, in the way I called her my Dove. But she never mocked me, never humiliated me. Instead, she handled me with patience, sometimes with distance, sometimes with gentle replies.

I must confess something here: my love for Jenny was not always easy. It came with jealousy, with overthinking, with misunderstandings. If she joined a study group without me, I felt excluded. If she talked to others more freely, I felt insecure. And yet, deep inside, I never wanted to cage her. I only wanted her happiness. My pain was not because she did something wrong, but because I loved her so deeply that every small thing felt like a storm inside me.

There was a moment I cannot forget. She once asked me about my feelings, even though she already knew I loved her. That question pierced me. It made me wonder—why did she ask, when she already knew? Was it curiosity? Was it her way of clarifying boundaries? Or was it her calm way of reminding me not to hope too much? I still don’t know. All I know is that her presence in my life was enough to keep me going, even when I felt helpless.

In those early days, I also dreamed. I dreamed of becoming a doctor one day, and in that dream, I wanted her to remember me, to remember that boy who once told her of his ambition. I imagined a future where I succeeded, and she would see me not as the emotional, jealous, confused boy, but as a man who kept his word. That dream kept me alive through many nights of pain.

But the truth is, my love was one-sided. She cared for me, yes. She respected me, yes. But she didn’t love me back the way I loved her. And that is where the delusion began—the belief that maybe one day she would, if I just tried harder, if I just stayed by her side, if I just proved my worth. It was never her fault. She never promised me anything. It was my heart that created a world where she was the center, a world where her silence meant more than words, and where her replies became the air I breathed.

Looking back now, I realize that what I felt for Jenny was pure, but it was also painful. I loved her not because of her beauty, not because of her background, not because of her world being richer and brighter than mine. I loved her because she was Jenny—because she had a way of making me feel alive, of teaching me patience, of showing me what it means to care without expecting anything in return.

Part one of this story is about that beginning—about how a simple friendship grew into something deeper in my heart, something I could not control. It is about how I found my Dove and how I slowly began to lose myself in her world. The chapters that follow will tell how this love shaped me, broke me, and finally taught me the hardest lesson of all: how to move on.