Forbidden Love, Part 1

In my first year of secondary school, I briefly met him and was surprised to learn he remembered me. Many years later, we found ourselves reunited, chatting away in his bed until midnight during a school break at the end of the year. I had left Ipoh a year prior, returning to Johor, but my return to stay with him carried a secret hope that he might feel the same way about me. Ever since we were classmates at fifteen, I had harboured a quiet admiration for him. He was tall, with an effortless masculinity and a profoundly kind heart — qualities that made me believe someone like him would never be interested in a boy like me. With my limited understanding of sexual orientations back then, I was sure he wasn’t gay.

Sitting next to him that night, a mix of excitement and joy bubbled inside me. I wondered how I could reveal my feelings without risking our friendship. What if this confession ended everything? We were so close that he even invited me to rest my head on his shoulder, sending my heart into a flutter, filled with hope and fear.

We reminisced about the early days of our friendship and how much I missed him while I was in Johor. With each shared memory and laugh, a sliver of hope grew within me that perhaps there might be a chance for us.

The conversation eventually shifted, as if we were characters in a movie, to more personal revelations. We asked each other if there was someone we admired and hoped could be more than just a friend. Secretly, I hoped I was the person he was thinking about. Despite this, a part of me doubted — assuming he might simply see me as a little brother or pity me as the odd one out.

Then, he confessed that he had been secretly fond of someone for a long time but had never found the right moment to express his feelings. My heart sank, confronting the possibility that it might not be me he cared for. Yet, despite this, a stubborn, hopeful part of my heart whispered that perhaps my feelings weren’t one-sided after all.