CHAPTER TWO- Kaden

By the time freshman year started, me and Noah were barely talking.

There was no fight, no ending, no real moment where we said goodbye. It was just one of those slow fades that happen when two people were never officially anything to begin with. We had spent the summer talking about high school like it was going to be this big new world—messaging late at night, imagining new classes, new people, new versions of ourselves. Sometimes, I think we were both a little curious about what it might be like to see each other in the hallways as freshmen, older somehow, different somehow.

But what I felt for Noah wasn’t love.

It was soft and light—hidden feelings tucked inside a friendship we never named. Something gentle. Something innocent. Something that never had the chance to grow into anything real. And because we never promised each other anything, I didn’t feel guilty when our messages became further apart.

Life just… moved on.

Freshman year was bigger and louder than I expected. Everyone looked older. Everyone acted older. The hallways felt like the entire world had cracked open, full of new people, new energy, and new distractions. And right as Noah faded quietly into the background of my life, someone else stepped into the space without warning.

Kaden.

I had seen him around growing up—passing by at parks or when our friends overlapped. A familiar face, but never a familiar person. We had never talked. Never actually connected. So when he messaged me one day, it caught me completely off guard.

“Hey, I know we’ve seen each other around before, but I wanted to actually say hi.”

Simple. Casual. But it made me smile.

And from there, everything felt surprisingly consuming.

We started messaging every day. Every morning. Every evening. His presence was immediate, an all-or-nothing kind of attention that pulled me out of my own head and placed me squarely in his orbit. The phone never left my hand. I started sleeping with it under my pillow, not wanting to miss the exact minute he messaged. Sometimes talking until one of us fell asleep mid-sentence.

Messages turned into texting. Texting turned into late-night calls that stretched on and on because neither of us wanted to hang up.

This attention wasn't quiet like the steady hum of my grandparents' house; it was a constant, loud reassurance, a lifeline I mistook for intimacy. It felt like I was finally important enough for someone to care this much—to devote all their time to me. I thought, This is what real connection felt like: breathless, monopolizing, total.

The first time he sent me one of his morning paragraphs—the long ones he became known for—I remember just sitting there smiling like an idiot. He wrote about what he liked about me, how much he enjoyed talking to me, how he hoped my day would be good, and how he looked forward to hearing from me. It was sweet in a way I wasn’t used to. Real in a way middle-school crushes never were.

No one had ever talked to me like that before. No one had ever demanded such constant attention, and I misread that demanding nature as genuine devotion.

And somewhere between the late-night conversations and those early morning paragraphs, something inside me shifted. I realized I didn’t just like talking to him—I liked him. Really liked him.

He was light-skinned with soft, curly black hair that fell perfectly over his forehead, a pretty smile that could warm up an entire room, and a height that made him stand almost a whole foot taller than me. He had this magnetic charm—loud but strong, confident but possessive. Being around him felt intoxicating, like the world sped up when he talked.

Before he ever asked me to be his girlfriend, he did something no boy had ever done.

He asked my brother for permission.

He didn’t tell me he was going to. Didn’t hype it up. Didn’t do it for show. He just… did it.

Respectfully. Boldly.

Like he understood exactly what mattered to me and my family without needing me to explain it.

When he told me what he had done, the relief was immediate and overwhelming. It wasn't just about respect; it was about power. My overprotective barrier, the one created by my cousins and fueled by the fear of being caught, had been neutralized. The anxiety I felt whenever a boy looked my way vanished. Kaden had handled the defense, and now, I was free to run straight toward the offensive. He had given me the permission I desperately craved to finally be a regular girl in a relationship, but the cost was accepting his rules.

When he told me afterward, I felt my heart drop in the best way. My brother respected it. Which meant my cousins—who usually shut down ANY boy who tried to talk to me—reluctantly respected it too. They didn’t trust him completely, but they didn’t forbid it. And that alone changed everything.

For the first time, I didn’t have to hide the person I liked. For the first time, I was given permission to embrace the chaos I craved.

A few weeks later—in March, around my birthday—we hung out for the first time.

It had been a rough week. My dad came into town to see me for my birthday, something I’d been looking forward to. But instead of a calm, happy visit, everything went sideways fast. My parents started arguing over something small—something that didn’t matter at all—and it spiraled into one of those loud, heavy fights that split the whole house in two.

The storm was worse than usual. It was a vicious, drawn-out battle in the kitchen—my mother’s voice climbing in pitch, my father’s answers sharp and cold. I hid in my room, clutching the vanilla lotion, the sound of my mother's voice breaking through the door like shards of glass. My chest felt tight, my breath shallow. I hated the familiar, sickening sense of waiting for the house to shake, waiting for the door slam that would signal the explosion was over. I wanted to disappear.

It ruined the whole mood. Ruined the excitement. Ruined the part of me that wanted my birthday to feel normal.

I didn’t want to cry, but the disappointment sat hard in my chest. I just wanted to get away from the noise, the tension, the feeling of being stuck in the middle of grown-up problems. I needed air. Space. I desperately needed a distraction that was bigger than the pain.

And the only person I wanted to talk to—the only person who made me feel seen in the drama—was Kaden.

He checked on me that day. Asked if I was okay. Asked if I wanted to get out of the house for a bit. We decided to meet at the school park near my neighborhood—simple, close, neutral.

I remember walking toward the park with my heart beating fast, but this time, it was laced with urgency, not nerves. The early spring air was cool, but my sense of relief was warm. When I saw him waiting by the playground, sitting on the bench, I felt something flip inside me. He was the opposite of the storm I had just left. He stood up when he saw me, smiling that soft, charming smile that made everything feel lighter.

Seeing him in person was different. Realer. He was taller than I remembered. More intense than I expected, but that intensity focused entirely on me.

His curly hair caught the light. His smile hit me in the chest.

We sat on the bench together, talking about everything and nothing. I opened up about my parents fighting. He listened closely, like every word mattered. He didn’t make jokes or make it about him—he just sat there, present, a steady, magnetic force that anchored my shaking world, making me feel like I finally had a safe place to land.

The conversation lasted for hours, dipping into every subject—from his dreams of leaving the city to my fears about the future. I felt a reckless, intoxicating freedom in being so honest, fueled by the fight I had just escaped. He made me feel like the storm inside me was valid, not burdensome.

And then, somewhere in the middle of talking—in a quiet moment between one sentence and the next—we just looked at each other.

Close. Comfortable. Like the moment had been waiting for us.

And he kissed me.

Soft. Warm. Natural.

It was the kind of kiss that didn't just happen; it was a deliberate, gentle halt to the chaos I had run from. I sank into the moment, allowing his focus to completely overwrite the memory of my mother's screams. It felt like a promise of protection. I realized in that second that I wasn't just attracted to him; I was using him as a shield against the noise of my life, allowing his all-consuming attention to drown out my own deep-seated hurt.

My heart jumped. My stomach fluttered. My whole body felt light.

When I walked home afterward, it felt like something in my life had shifted. Like I’d stepped into a new season without realizing it. Freshman year felt different because of him—electric, all-consuming, high-stakes.

He wasn’t just a crush. He wasn’t just attention. He was my first real love.

And in that moment—sitting on that bench, kissing him for the first time—I had no idea that the same boy who made me feel seen would one day be the same boy who made me feel broken.

But that part comes later.

Right now… he was everything I thought passion should be.