I’m not the type of person who thinks much about love. To me, “what even is a love story?”. People say college is the best time to fall in love, to build stories with cool people, to feel your heart race while waiting for a text, or to secretly smile when you see someone from afar. I once imagined how cute it would be to have a partner like the student council president (BEM), someone busy with meetings but still making time to walk me home after class, hehe. But it turns out, all of that was just a fantasy, a fairytale I had seen in campus dramas.
In reality, even up to my fifth semester, I still walked home from campus alone, passing through crowded hallways without anyone waiting for me. I still sat alone at the canteen, waiting for a message that never actually came. Sometimes, I comforted myself by saying, “It’s okay, I’m still young. It’s not the time to think about love yet.” But at some point, I began asking myself, “What does it feel like, to have someone waiting for you, someone who wants to listen to your stories, even the most random ones?”
I used to not care about love, but suddenly, I wanted to know what it felt like to have someone. Maybe it was because of my age, or maybe it was because every day, I saw my friends walk home with smiles, side by side with someone they loved. I started to feel an empty space inside me that I wanted to fill, not with grand gestures, but with the simplest things: having someone to eat street food with near campus, someone to take a walk with in the afternoon, or just receiving a message that says, “Have you eaten yet?”
Eventually, I did something I once thought was strange: I tried using a dating app. At first, I was hesitant. Scared. Embarrassed. But then I thought, what’s wrong with trying? Maybe I would find someone there to accompany me through days that were starting to feel empty.
I met a few guys. Some were pleasant enough to talk to, and a few even made me feel seen. I went on a few first dates, hoping one of them would turn into the sweet stories I had heard from others. But in the end, none of them worked out. Some were too cold, some were only looking for fun, and some never even checked up on me again after our first date. I was tired. Frustrated. It turned out to be much harder to find someone you truly want, who also genuinely wants you back. All I wanted was someone to walk beside me on the campus sidewalk, someone to talk to after a tiring day, someone who would make me feel less alone in the middle of the crowd.
And then, I met him. A guy my age, but somehow so much more mature. The way he spoke was thoughtful, the way he planned his life was steady, and the way he laughed over small things but could still be serious when needed. He was attentive, patient, and never in a rush for anything. Someone I didn’t even realize I had been hoping for all this time.
Ironically, our first meeting was far from perfect. We decided to go to the movies, what people say is the most basic first-date plan. But when the lights went down, he ended up falling asleep in the middle of the movie. I sat there next to him, annoyed, thinking, “Why am I even here with this guy?” And when the movie ended, instead of taking me out to dinner like a typical date, he hurried home, saying he had something urgent to take care of. At that moment, I was certain I would never see him again. For me, he was the worst first date I had ever experienced.
But it turns out, the universe has its own plans. He reached out to me again in the simplest ways, asking how I was doing with genuine concern, listening to me complain about assignments and strict lecturers without getting distracted, and reminding me to eat on time. He never forced me to be someone else, never expected me to always have it all together. He listened patiently to my stories, laughed at the little things I shared, and sent me words of encouragement when I felt hopeless under the weight of endless assignments.
He guided me without making me feel small, comforted me without judgment, and made me feel valued in all my imperfections. He was there not only during my happiest moments but also when I was at my worst, crying out of exhaustion or feeling like giving up on everything. With him, I didn’t have to pretend to be cheerful all the time. I could simply be myself. I never imagined that from a chaotic first meeting and a terrible first date, I would end up having a story like this with him. It turns out, love doesn’t always arrive with flowers and chocolates like in the dramas I used to watch. It doesn’t always come with grand gestures or dramatic moments.
Sometimes, love comes in the simplest forms, like a morning text saying, “Don’t forget to eat breakfast,” or “Good luck with your assignments” at night, or in the way he would hold my hand when I was nervous without saying a word, yet somehow making me feel safe. Maybe this is what a love story really is. Not perfect, not always sweet, but real, simple, and present in the midst of busyness and exhaustion, something that makes you feel enough just by being yourself. With him, I learned that a love story is not about how you meet, but about how you continue to grow together and understand each other despite imperfections.
And finally, I understand, “What is a love story?”. A love story is when you find someone who is willing to walk with you, slowly, even when the road isn’t always smooth. Someone who is willing to understand, to listen, and to grow with you, without asking you to pretend to be someone else. Because in the end, love isn’t about campus drama or a perfect first date. It’s about who stays, and who makes you feel that you are worthy of love, just as you are.
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