I have been traumatized enough by these guys; I'm going to be the one traumatizing them now and they'll need to heal from me.
There was Daniel, Zain, Anthony, Chris, John, Adrian, Justin, Saint, Brian, Cole, Eric, and Kelvin.
A lot, haha, yeah, I know. I felt I could always give love another chance.
Let's take a walk down memory lane.
The Men Who Made Me
Daniel — my first boyfriend.
He was tall, over six-foot, skin the kind of deep brown that looked carved from sunlight. Sharp jaw, full lips, and the kind of smile that made girls make bad decisions in slow motion.
I had gone to the local library a few blocks from my apartment. Reading was my way of leaving reality behind and entering a fantasy world which I loved.
I was having a terrible day 'cause I had just seen a picture of my best friend with the guy I told her I had a crush on, Lucas.
Holding hands and kissing.
What in the world!
I texted, how could you, Gabby?
All she said was, you've had a crush on him since the eleventh grade and never acted on it. He was never yours to begin with. And if you want to end our friendship because of that, it's fine! I don't think—
She was typing when I blocked her.
A few minutes later, I was deep into reading Boardroom to Bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the library couch, drowning in heartbreak, my green oversized tee swallowing me whole, grey joggers, hair in a messy bun — looking homeless and devastated. I didn't even apply lip gloss.
That's when Daniel walked in.
He smelled like clean laundry and bad decisions — that perfect combination that makes your heart misbehave. His voice was smooth when he spoke.
"Is this seat taken?"
It wasn't. But he could've taken the whole couch if he wanted to.
I looked up, blinked twice because I was not expecting someone who looked like that to talk to me. My brain short-circuited for a second before I managed to mumble, "No, it's all yours."
He smiled. Lord, why? That smile looked illegal.
He sat, and I immediately regretted not brushing my hair.
"What are you reading?" he asked.
I tilted the book so he could see the cover. "Romance," I said, trying to sound casual, like I hadn't been emotionally betrayed thirty minutes ago.
"Ah," he chuckled, "so you're a lover girl."
I squinted at him. "That supposed to be an insult?"
He grinned. "No. Just… rare. Most people I meet don't admit it."
"Most people you meet don't look like they belong on a cologne billboard," I muttered before my brain could stop my mouth.
He laughed — that deep, easy kind of laugh that fills up a room. "Was that a compliment?"
"I plead the fifth," I said quickly, face burning.
We talked for a while — about random things. Books, movies, how he "didn't usually come here," which I later realized was code for I followed you in. He told me he was just taking a break from work, that he'd spotted me on his way out and couldn't resist saying hi.
Smooth liar. I was too flattered to care.
After about an hour of light banter and too many shared smiles, he noticed my half-hearted sigh.
"You look like someone who needs ice cream," he said suddenly.
I frowned. "You diagnosing me with a sugar deficiency?"
"Exactly." He stood up, hands in his pockets. "Come on. It's the best kind of therapy."
I hesitated, glancing at my book. He tilted his head, that smirk returning. "Unless you plan to read away the heartbreak I see in your eyes?"
I froze. "What heartbreak?"
"The one you're trying really hard to hide."
I wanted to deny it, but he wasn't wrong.
So I followed him.
The ice cream shop was small and warm, filled with laughter and the smell of vanilla. He ordered chocolate fudge; I got strawberry because it looked cute.
He insisted on paying, even though I offered, and I swear he looked offended at the thought.
"So," he said between spoonfuls, "who broke your heart?"
I nearly choked. "Excuse me?"
"You've been sighing like a sad playlist since the library," he said lightly. "Just saying."
I rolled my eyes. "My best friend stole my crush. That's all."
"Ouch." He leaned closer, elbows on the table. "That's some soap opera material right there."
I laughed despite myself. "You have no idea."
"Then she didn't deserve you," he said casually, licking his spoon like he wasn't out here ruining my emotional stability.
Something fluttered in my chest. Butterflies? No. Maybe just indigestion from the ice cream. Definitely not butterflies.
Except my palms were sweaty. My heart raced a little every time he smiled.
I'd never felt that before — that weird, fizzy warmth that made me want to both run away and stay forever.
And of course, because the universe has a dark sense of humor, I started overthinking.
Do I smell like books? Should I have worn perfume? Does he notice I'm staring? Stop staring, Jen. You're staring.
He caught me.
"Everything okay?"
"Yep," I said too quickly, forcing a grin. "Just… brain freeze."
He laughed again. "Cute."
There it was. The word cute. No one had ever called me that before — not like that.
When we finished, he walked me to the bus stop. The sky was painted orange, the kind of evening that makes everything feel like a movie scene.
"Can I see you again?" he asked.
I blinked. "You mean, like, next week? At the library?"
"No," he said, grinning. "A proper date. No sad books. No heartbreak sighs. Just us."
Before I could answer, he pulled out his phone. "What's your address?"
I hesitated. "Why?"
"So I can send you something. Consider it a pre-date gift."
"Do I look like the kind of girl who gives her address to strangers?"
He raised a brow. "I don't know. Do you?"
He had me there. Against my better judgment, I gave it to him.
That night, I kept replaying the entire thing — his smile, his voice, the way he said my name like he meant it.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt something other than disappointment.
The next morning, a package sat at my door. Inside was a pale pink dress — soft, flowy, with a note that said, For Saturday. 7 p.m. Dinner's on me.
Below, his handwriting: P.S. I'll pick you up. Wear a smile. It suits you.
I stared at it for a long time, my heart doing that weird flutter thing again.
I didn't know what it was called then — that feeling.
But it felt like the start of something beautiful.
Something I'd remember long after it ended.