My earliest memory of being in love was from when I was 12 years old. It was quite fashionable back then to have a crush or be crushed by someone. There was this boy in my class who sat several benches away from me. Once in a while, we’d exchange glances and giggle for no apparent reason. I can’t put a finger on how I felt but I’ll simplify it here and say I used to blush every time he smiled at me. I’d call his landline, just to be able to hear him say hello, and later get abused by my dad for increasing the phone bill. Now, if this isn’t love, I don’t know what is.
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