And after many fabrications, many excuses, I finally told my mother the truth about him. I had been hesitant to tell her at first, because I was afraid she’d jump to the conclusions she always jumps to. Whenever she sees one of my friends, walking hand in hand when she picks me up from school, she always warns me to never be one of those people. My parents have always been overprotective, they’ve always had a irrationally prominent fear that I might get raped, or taken advantage of by a boy. I don’t blame them, I’m pretty stupid when it comes to dealing with boys—I’m extremely gullible.

But my mother reacted pretty well. She was calm, and she didn’t jump into conclusions about his character. She said, “I don’t know him, and maybe he is a wonderful guy. Maybe he’s the most incredible guy ever, but I just want you to be careful, and concentrate on your studies. You can’t afford to get distracted by a guy when you’re at one of the most critical stages in your academic career.” She was really reasonable about it. And I understand her worries, I know that my dad and her want what’s best for me. And I’m going to prove to them that I’ll prioritize my time more wisely, and finish my homework more efficiently. That I’ll be able to balance my schoolwork and still love him with all my heart.

And honestly, the truth deserved to be known. I don’t want to hide it—there’s practically no way to hide it. I’m in love with him. From the grin that lingers on my face when I stare listlessly out the window, from the smile that flits across my face whenever I think of him, how every chance I get, I call him…he’s a part of every second of my life.