what if (1)

28 February 2035, Australia

I received an invitation to my high school reunion today. The first thought that came to my mind was simple and almost cold. Should I even go? I had no one back then. I was quiet, unnoticed, emotionally alone. So why would I return to a place that never truly felt like home?

Then I remembered him.

Someone who once meant everything to me. The situationship I chose to end, even though it broke me. I do not even know how I would react if I saw him again. Maybe he would not attend. Maybe life had moved him somewhere else entirely.

I sat with the invitation for hours, weighing every possibility. In the end, I decided to go.

Part of me was genuinely excited. My career is stable now. I graduated from one of the best universities in Australia and became a registered nurse. I am now considering which specialty to pursue. Looking back, I realize how much discipline those years required. I stayed single through all of it. It was not easy, but it allowed me to put God at the center of my life rather than a relationship. When I felt exhausted, confused, or ready to give up, I felt Him reminding me to continue. There were moments I thought I would drift away from my path, but I did not. I survived. I grew. I became stronger.

Of course, I still wonder about my future husband. I sometimes imagine what he looks like, where he is, whether he ever thinks about me. But I always return to one decision. I trust God’s timing.

I went to a dress rental store and found a beautiful purple gown. It was elegant and calm. It reflected who I have become. Grounded. Composed. Reliable. While trying it on, I suddenly remembered how insecure I used to feel. Now I can do my own makeup confidently. Some people even ask me for advice. If my younger self saw me, she would ask how I reached this point. The answer is not dramatic. I simply focused on building my own value before trying to be chosen by someone else.

Yet ever since that invitation arrived, my mind keeps circling back to him. There was a time I was willing to compromise myself for him. I would have given him everything. But it did not turn out well. My love felt overwhelming. His felt small in comparison. Maybe I was wrong to believe he was the one. Maybe we were never compatible.

That experience left my first real wound in love. It felt permanent at the time.

Still, I chose to grow from it. I genuinely hoped he was happy and healthy. But if I am honest, I also hoped I would not see him at the reunion. I did not want old emotions resurfacing. I buried that longing for years. What if I only suppressed it instead of healing it? What if he had moved on while I was still emotionally paused in the same place?

So, I prayed silently: God, please guard my heart. If my future husband is here, make it clear. If not, only allow my heart to fall for the one You send for me.

6 PM, Aska Hotel, Australia

When I arrived at the hotel, the evening light reflected softly against the entrance glass. I adjusted my purple dress, steadied my breath, and walked inside.

About ten people were already there, including some teachers. Conversations slowed as I entered. I felt their eyes on me. Some looked surprised. Some smiled warmly. I felt myself blush, the same way I always do when I feel exposed. But this time, I did not shrink. I stood tall and greeted one of my teachers. We spoke about my career journey, about nursing, about how far I had come. It felt natural. Comfortable.

Around thirty minutes passed before something shifted inside me.

It was subtle at first. A warmth. A tension in the air. The same feeling I used to get when he walked into a classroom years ago. My heart rate began to increase. I did not turn around. I was almost afraid that if I confirmed it, everything inside me would unravel.

Then my teacher glanced past me and smiled. She greeted someone behind me. I did not need to look to know.

He stepped closer. I could feel his presence beside me while he spoke to her. I looked only through my peripheral vision, too afraid to face him directly. I did not want him to read my expression. I did not want him to see that my calmness was fragile.

After a few minutes, I excused myself and moved to a different table where some classmates were gathered. I became more talkative than usual. Friendly. Outgoing. I am not sure if they noticed the performance, but it helped me breathe.

Later in the evening, the organizers announced a dance session. The central area was cleared, almost like a small ballroom. Music began to fill the room. I had not planned to dance. In high school, I would have stayed seated, observing from a distance.

While standing near the edge of the floor, I looked across the room.

Our eyes met.

He was with his friends, but he was not distracted. He was looking at me directly, as if trying to understand something. I felt exposed. I lowered my gaze and whispered a prayer inside my heart. I asked God to guard me. I asked Him to protect me from falling for the wrong person again. I am tired of loving deeply and ending up hurt.

Eventually, I joined my classmates on the dance floor. I told myself it was just dancing. Nothing more. While moving with the music, I noticed him standing among the crowd, watching. I tried to convince myself he was looking at someone else. Maybe at a friend behind me. Maybe it meant nothing.

Then I heard my name.

My body reacted before my mind did. My heart pounded so strongly it almost felt painful. I turned around. He was standing there, closer than before.

I forced a calm smile.

We exchanged simple greetings. I asked how he had been. He said he was doing well and mentioned he was working at one of the top computer companies in Australia. I felt proud of him. At the same time, I created distance in my mind. I assumed he must have met someone new at work or university. I did not want to reopen something that was already closed.

There was a short silence between us before he asked if I wanted to dance.

At that exact moment, a Bruno Mars song was playing. The irony was almost overwhelming.

Anxiety rushed through me. I asked myself what would happen if I allowed this. What if I fell again and the ending was the same? But avoiding him would not erase history. So I said yes.

We stepped onto the dance floor. Around us, couples were dancing naturally. We felt awkward at first, like two people pretending we did not share a past.

He smiled and asked how I was doing, what was good in the hood. The exact phrase he used years ago. The familiarity unsettled me. I answered briefly, keeping my tone neutral.

As the music continued, something softened between us. The tension did not disappear, but it changed shape. It became quieter. More honest. He began speaking more openly. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just truthfully.

He told me he never completely let go. He admitted he came to the reunion hoping to see me. He said there were too many unfinished conversations between us. He even mentioned he still kept the wallpaper I made for him in 2024.

I felt both warmth and skepticism. Part of me wanted to believe him. Another part wanted proof.

He studied my face carefully, as if trying to read what I was hiding. Then, without rushing, he leaned closer and kissed me.

It was not impulsive. It was not careless. It felt intentional. Like a decision rather than a reaction.

In that moment, I realized he had changed. There was maturity in the way he carried himself. A steadiness that was not there before. My heart, instead of spiraling into chaos, felt calm.

Tears gathered in my eyes, but I held them back. Not out of weakness, but out of relief. The timing felt different. We were no longer incomplete teenagers trying to figure out love without understanding ourselves.

I did not regret attending my high school reunion. That night felt like closure, or perhaps a new beginning.

And yet, this entire story is only one of the many what if scenarios that play in my head while I am still trying to accept what truly happened between him and me. My mind rewrites endings. It creates reconciliations. It searches for meaning.

But reality is quieter than imagination.

I am still learning to let go completely. I hope one day I can move on one hundred percent, without replaying possibilities, without rewriting conversations, without wondering what could have been.