The Shadow of First Love

There is someone who continues to live in my heart.
Because I can still clearly remember the way she looked back at me, hidden under her umbrella.
No matter how many times I have fallen in love since, that shadow has never faded.

I remember we met when I was 15, in my first year of high school, and it was raining.
A woman who was petite, with a small face and large, dark eyes—the word "girl" suited her perfectly.
That was my first impression of her.

My affection for her definitely took root in me every time we met.
Yet, contrary to my feelings, things moved in a direction I hadn't hoped for.
A relationship kept at a certain distance.
This was the shape of our bond.

She had a habit of speaking with rough, masculine language.
It seemed to be her own way of defending herself.

Even when she wished to be liked for who she was as a person, the boys in their teens only wanted to possess her.
Relying only on the fact that she was wanted, she wasn't "falling in love," but rather "trying to fall in love."

"I think this time it might be different, and I end up getting my hopes up," she said.
She said it in a dismissive, almost weary tone.
For some reason, she spoke honestly about her love life to me.
It was clear she was suffering from the gap between the small joy of being wanted in any form and the effort she had to make to accept it.

In truth, I didn't want to know about those feelings.
Perhaps, by accepting the thoughts she wanted to vent somewhere, I was trying to protect my own pride as a young man.

Wanting to believe I was different from those other men, I told her how I felt several times.
It was when I confessed at 18, just before graduating high school.
There were words that resonated deeply at that moment.
"If we start dating, I'm sure you'll end up hating me."
She looked straight at me with her large, dark eyes and said,
"And I don't want that."
She said it in a feminine voice, different from her usual tone.
Unable to find any words to reply, I walked away.

It was when I was 20, while we were still maintaining that comfortable distance.
She was being troubled and frightened by a stalker.
Perhaps because she had also suffered a major heartbreak around that time, I was the only one she could rely on.
For the next month, I stayed in her apartment, where she lived alone, in a state of semi-cohabitation.

I would stroke her hair while listening to her soft breathing as she slept.
It wasn't so much that I wanted to be with her, but that I wanted to be by her side.

As we continued those days, the distance between us grew even smaller.
Perhaps the atmosphere between us created an illusion.

For the first time, I heard words from her that sounded like she was revealing her true feelings.
"I wonder what it would be like if we dated..."
She said this in a voice filled with warmth while we were lying side by side.
The sound of the futon rustling drew closer.
Even though I could feel her gaze on me, I stared at the ceiling without answering.
Perhaps I was afraid to say the words that would answer her feelings.

But my uncontrollable feelings spilled out unconsciously.
In the morning, as we were preparing to go to our respective schools, I unconsciously touched her lips.

Her confusion was conveyed through the movement of her dark eyes.
She looked down and pressed her thumb against her fingernails one by one.
It was her habit when she was thinking.
Even then, she seemed unable to find words and appeared bewildered.
It wasn't silence; the stillness, where words seemed ready to come out but didn't, became a heavy atmosphere that enveloped me.

"See you later."
A raspy voice hit my back.
I don't know if that was the right thing to say.
But that gentle tone overlapped with the sound of my heart breaking.

That day was the last time I went to her room.
There were times she contacted me, but we never met again.

I don't believe it was a lie that she felt something for me, even if only for a moment.
It's just that I knew her fragility too well.
It was the moment when love became a memory.

As time passed, I realized something.
The shadow that remained in me was not just her, but myself as well.
I had tried to grow as a person in order to love her with all my might.
Perhaps the reason our love continued was because she cherished that headstrong side of me.
It wasn't just the first love itself, but the memories of that era we spent together that I couldn't forget.

They say first love is beautiful because it doesn't come to fruition.
Because you can't go back, the longing for the past is bittersweet.

The past is idealized, making the shadow of her hidden under the umbrella stand out clearly.
No matter how much I resist, as time goes by, the raindrops, her, and the version of myself that was by her side are vividly projected forever.

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