It was in the start of the second term of eighth grade that I realized I had feelings for you. No matter how much I tried they wouldn't go away.

I remember the first time we met, back in fourth grade. You were the mixed, mischievous kid. I had hated you with a passion but, honestly, I didn't know why. I guess it was because everyone hated you and so I chose to do what everyone did instead of being my own person.

Years later, we moved on to seventh grade and you dropped your mischievous ways and became a cooler, better guy. Now, everyone loved you. Everyone wanted to be your friend. Everyone completely forgot just how mischievous you had once been. Girls daydreaming over you.

I didn't have feelings for you then. To me, we were just friends.

I remember the first time I moved to your class. I had sat behind you and boy, I had been so excited to be in a new class, I couldn't stop talking.

I kept throwing questions at you which you kept answering until you finally cracked.

You looked at me and said, "Girl, you talk too much."

But it hadn't been in a sassy or rude way. It was more of something you would tell your little sister when she wouldn't stop asking questions.

And so our friendship began. Right up to eight grade in which this time, you sat beside me and no longer behind.

Man, did we talk everyday. Laugh everyday. Checked on each other. Got into trouble. Bullied each other in a playful way.

It was right then, in those moments, that I realized I had feelings for you. And maybe, just maybe, you had them for me too.

All of a sudden, I couldn't get you out of my head. I kept recalling our conversations in class and laughing at the silly jokes you had made long after we had all gone home from school. I kept looking forward to seeing you in school the next day, although I hated school.

There had been this time, early November, that you hadn't come to school for two whole days. I had wondered why and worried that something might've happened to you.

On the third day, I saw you in school. You had just arrived and your wrist had a drip bandaged around it. I yearned to ask you what was up but, the teachers had already pulled you aside and began talking to you. I watched, anyway, and noticed you were crying.

As soon as we got back to class for lessons to begin, I asked you why you had been crying. You told me you hadn't been but, I had seen you.

I was slightly upset at you not wanting to tell me the reason for your crying.

Why didn't you want to tell me?Weren't we close friends?

It had been later on that I realized that you hadn't wanted to tell me because you probably didn't want to seem vulnerable in front of me.

That made my heart cringe. I wanted to tell you that I didn't mind. But I never got around to saying that.

After a while, I had asked you why you had a drip in your wrist. You told me you had asthma.

I had been so surprised and shocked on hearing that and after sometime, I told you I was sorry.

It was all I could say.

You said it was cool and our regular friendship returned.

Our friendship had been so noticeable that one day, your cousin, walked up to me during lunch period and asked me whether I liked you. At first I blanched and told her no, but then I asked why she was asking. She told me she and her friend had noticed how we talk and laugh a lot in class and they were just curious.

I finally gave in and told her that I did. She told me she had thought so too. From then on we became more close than we had been before.

The second term of eighth grade had come and my feelings for you were still there, even after you'd been moved out of our class.

I don't think I had ever liked anyone the way I had done with you. It wasn't just preteen infatuation or obsession. It was something different.

I guess I really liked you. Like, really.

I guess you were my first love.

                                                 Yours Truly,
                                                     First love.