I remember the first time I realized love was real.

It was in the form of a boy with gold hair, his shining blue eyes looking at me like I was made of spun gold. I didn’t know him, and he didn’t know me, but when our eyes locked, I swear I saw the brightness of spring chasing away the cold of winter.

He looked away too soon, cheeks pink and, hopefully, heart racing just like mine was.

I pretended it didn’t happen, and it seemed he did, too.

But I felt that spring chase me back home, and the memory of his smile I knew was seared in my mind. I played it over in my head night after night, wondering if what I had felt was love at first sight. Like in the books everyone loves to hate.

It was Saturday when I saw him again. 

I was at a coffee shop with a silly name; "Bean There, Drank That," or something equally strange but charming. He was in front of me in line wearing a red scarf, and I didn’t know it was him until he glanced back at me, and our eyes found each other once again. I noticed that he had flecks of gold and silver in those blue eyes.

I also found out that, when he smiled, he had a dimple in his right cheek.

This time, I looked away, feeling that same spring warmth encircle me.

Encircle us.

I felt more than saw him angle his body toward me, and then his voice was in my ear, “I like your socks.”

Suddenly, I remembered that my socks had pugs wearing Christmas hats on them. Even worse, I had on a matching sweater that sang when you pushed a button on it.

My cheeks turned bright red, “Oh,” I looked up into those eyes, feeling like I was falling. Drowning. “Yeah, thanks.”

His face lit up, and he grinned, still looking. Staring.

Staring at me.

“What’s your name?”

My mind blanked. What was my name? Whatever he wanted to call me would do.

I opened my mouth and looked down at my intertwined hands. The line we were in moved forward, but he still didn’t look away from me. His gaze was searing.

It was too hot in that coffee shop.

“My name’s Mauri,” I answered, finally remembering who I was. It was hard when he was looking at me like that. “And you?”

He stuck out his hand, smiling brightly. That smile lit up his ocean eyes, “Dev.”

With shaking hands, I grasped his palm, feeling like I was about to faint dead away. If I cracked my head on the tiles, dead as a door knob soon after (or at least lost in a coma), then at least I would die having touched someone so beautiful.

“Well. It’s a pleasure to meet someone like you,” he said, still gripping my palm and smiling so wide.

I didn’t care what he meant by “someone like me.” I was lost in a sea of blue.

“Next!” The barista called, beckoning to Dev who shook his head as if he had been lost in a dream.

Or, maybe, lost in my eyes like I had been lost in his.

“Do you mind if I pay for your coffee?” He asked.

He still hand’t released my palm.

I didn’t hesitate, “Yes.”

He blinked, “I’m sorry? You don’t want me to?”

I cleared my throat, looking down at my socks. The people behind us were starting to shift impatiently, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. “If I start letting men take care of me, then I won’t be able to care for myself.”

It was something my mom had drilled into me for years.

Dev laughed lightly, “Wow. I like that.”

All I remember next is watching as he turned away and ordered his coffee, a peppermint milk coffee with extra whipped cream (I think), and then he threw me a wink over his shoulder and walked towards the door.

I quickly blurted out my order and went to leave, but he was waiting by the door.

Waiting for me.

He must have caught my surprised expression because he smiled sheepishly, “I thought I’d ask you where you got those socks.”

My lips curled up in the corners, and soon we were grinning at each other, lost in that spring warmth enveloping us.

And, for the first time in my life, I actually thought this whole love thing might be real.

But I also remember the first time I realized love can hurt.

Those ocean eyes started to look stormy in our second year together. He didn't hold my hand in front of his friends or kiss me on the lips when I got home from a grinding day at school.

His face would scrunch when I wore those pug socks and the matching sweater, "Why do you like to wear those?"

I would just shrug and stare at my feet. Feeling foolish.

But then he would take me back to that coffee shop and stare at me over a steaming cup of peppermint milk coffee with extra whipped cream, saying that this was the day I saved him from a life that was loveless.

And I'd feel that spring warmth curling against me, nuzzling us closer and closer.

But such closeness can suffocate.

Can drown you until you're left gasping and panting, hoping for a lifeline.

He was always my lifeline. Dev.

He would toss me out to sea with stormy blue eyes and pointed glares and then haul me back to shore with bright, dimpled smiles and trips to Vermont in the summer.

I tried to ignore the cold days and focus on that warm spring air that would brush my neck every few days, but it was starting to hurt to be in love. 

Was that supposed to happen? Was I supposed to love someone and hate them at the same time?

I don't know. Because I have love with Dev.

And I don't know how to leave that.