My Youth Began With Him นิยาย & เรื่องราว

He's remembering now, recollecting something about me. "And in my dream, you looked so sad." Back then, I even welled up with a few tears. It may appear somewhat naïve, but my affection for him dates back to my early childhood. I harbored a deep admiration for him, even during my elementary school years. Although I often crossed paths with him during family gatherings or his company's events, I could never find the confidence to initiate a conversation. He carried an aura of enigma and detachment, revealing his authentic self exclusively in Maureen's presence, where his smiles and laughter abounded.

He whispered, I busted into laughter. “Finally, someone who agree with me!” I said and he chuckled. “How long have you been working with him?” I asked, he took in a deep breath. “Well, would you believe it if I said I have been working with him since I was a fifteen?” He asked, I nodded yes, I grew up in a mafia home, young boy get recruited all the time. “I would!” I said. “Angel saved my life, I owe him everything.” He said, I smiled, not knowing what more to say.

I muttered against her shoulder. She turned instantly and looked at me with sympathy in her eyes. "I was very young when I started fighting and all," I said. She looked at me as if listening to me very carefully. "I have never talked about it with anyone," I said intertwining our fingers. "I used to be a simple and sober child but my father always wanted me to be rough, strong and an unkind one"

I cleared my throat. Me: Sooo, as I was saying, total waste of time. It was my 18th birthday, and I had sneaked out to a nightclub with the girls. While I was at the bar taking a shot, I saw him — muscular, tattoos, dark eyes. He was everything a teenage girl would fantasize about. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, staring at their curious faces. Me: It was decided. He was the one. He was perfect. Of course, he noticed me — danced with me, dirty talked. I was sure it was gonna be so perfect…

He was my first ever true friend. He cupped my cheek in his warm hand as his eyes danced with raw emotions. "I was in my worst condition when I met you then. You not only saved my life but also my mental health at that time, you were so cute and jolly. After meeting you I realized there's a lot more to life. I was on the brink of giving up on my life and going to my mother. When my father took me back home I was grounded. I wanted to meet you but I couldn't so I studied hard and focused on myself. So I could get on my feet and find you again." He said.

I replied softly. Giving an understanding nod, "Well, take your time. You have a lifetime now to know me. This is just the beginning" he added with a faint smile. "Just the beginning" I mumbled back. But am I even ready for it?

He sat there motionless, like a frozen statue. His mind was in complete chaos, thoughts fragmenting and colliding. How had things become like this? When had everything gone so wrong? In the beginning, things had been so good between us. Perfect, even. He was the one who'd picked up that fifteen-year-old girl with a shattered family. Found her hiding in corners crying, her world falling apart around her. Piece by piece, he'd helped put her back together. Who'd patiently wiped away my tears with his own hands.

The authority and arrogance vanished on his face, as she saw a little boy stuck somewhere in the darkness. Something was not right. A delicate laugh flew out of his lips, as he turned towards her. His expression is grave. Taking a full breath, he said, "I was a child when I met you. With next to no friends, and any family members I felt so forlorn until I met you. You were my first friend and I'm eager to meet you again tomorrow. I couldn't even stop blabbering the whole time when I reached home. And saw her in the pool of blood."

He traps it in his grasp, pressing it against his chest a bit harsher. I turn silent and wait. When he is sure I won’t pull my hand away, he removes his and brings it over his face, letting out a deep sigh. His eyes close and he hides most of his face with his arm. Right when I think he won’t say a damn thing, he breathes in deeply and starts talking. “We were barely ten. It was my first shift even. It was utterly painful and by the end of it, I could barely find any strength within my bones to pull myself together and get up.” His voice is hoarse and I’m sure his throat is dry and painful.

"When did you begin to run this mafia?," I asked him. "Like how old were you?" "I think I was 16," he began. "Fuck knows, so much shit has happened since. I lost track of fucking time." "16's pretty young. At 16, I was trying to figure out how to straighten my hair without it getting frizzy from the top and you were looking after a whole fucking mafia." He shrugged his shoulders. "Dad’s a deadbeat.