press play

rewind to old loves, friendships, and versions of me I’ve left behind.

As I look out the window with my headphones on (cue the Addison Rae song here, lol), a track shuffles on—one from a movie soundtrack he recommended.

And just like that, I’m back on that day when it felt like we were the only two people in the world. It’s not the first time music has connected me to someone in such a visceral way. Certain songs have a way of holding onto memories, locking them in place. For the sake of anonymity, I’ll use artists that remind me of them.

Charli XCX & Justice

We met during my junior year, a year ahead of him, but it started at the library. Both of us staying late, waiting for our siblings to finish school. Those afternoons became something I looked forward to. We’d talk about our frustrations with teachers, gossip about friends, and casually discuss anything else that came to mind. It felt effortless, but somewhere along the way, I started to develop a quiet crush. I never admitted it, buried deep under my fear of rejection.

By senior year, we had a class together and started talking more. He’d make an effort to chat with me during lessons, and I always found it nice. After I graduated in 2018, we lost touch, but there were moments when he’d cross my mind.

Fast forward to 2021. I saw a post of his—he was holding up his COVID vaccination card. I saw my opening and reached out. I asked nervously, “Where did you get yours done?” He says, “I got it done here in town.” I say, “Oh, so you’re back in town?” He says, “Yeah, for a while.” Suddenly, he was back, after leaving for college. We caught up, and it felt like no time had passed.

That’s when we started sharing songs we were enjoying, movies we liked, and our philosophies on life. The first song he shares —

funny how that is currently a song that has risen in popularity as of recent, and I can’t help but remember him each time I hear it. He got me into early versions of Charli, and thanks to him, I can proudly say that I knew about her pre-her explosion in popularity with her brat album.

Eventually, we were talking for hours every day. I’d glance at the clock after we hung up, and it would be midnight—I hadn’t even noticed the time passing. With him, time didn’t feel real. It was like that all over again, just like those library afternoons. I started to look forward to our conversations in that same quiet way, and slowly, the feelings I once had came creeping back. I tried to push them down, told myself not to overthink it. He didn’t like me like that… or maybe he did?

2022

California started opening back up, and I saw a window. Nervously, I texted him:
“Hey, so things are starting to open up now… would you want to meet up?”

The second I hit send, I flung my phone across the bed and closed the app. I expected rejection, but the fear of never trying felt worse. Ten minutes passed. I told myself, At least now you’ll know. The typing bubble appeared. I looked away. Then back.

“It’s still too early in things opening up, and I want to stay safe.”

I told him I understood, and I did… but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. Still, we kept talking just as much as before, and he never brought up meeting again. As everything reopened, I started feeling stuck—like this connection, whatever it was, wasn’t moving forward. I felt like I was wasting my time. And yet I stayed, because in some twisted way, sitting in the grey felt familiar. Safe. Like maybe this was all I was worth.

By August, I needed clarity. I told myself, Okay, I won’t reach out anymore. If he wants to talk, he’ll reach out first.
Hours passed. Then days. Then months. Silence.

2023 – early 2024

He began to fade from my life, almost like a dream I couldn’t fully remember. I moved on—or at least I tried to. Then came February 2023. I saw a video: Charli XCX was performing at Coachella. Immediately, he popped into my mind. I hadn’t realized how much I missed him until that moment.

So I reached out. And just like that, we slipped back into old rhythms—daily conversations that lasted for hours. We never talked about the almost-year of silence. It was like nothing had changed. Then he sent me another song.

I played that song recently in the car with a friend and casually mentioned how it reminded me of this one guy from a while back. He nodded, saying he could relate—his ex had gotten him into Taylor Swift and Troye Sivan, and now those songs carried echoes of that relationship. That’s when it hit me: how real it is that music becomes an everlasting thread, connecting us to the people from before and sometimes even shaping the ones we’re becoming.

If you’re wondering how things ended with Mr. Charli XCX, I’ll save you the suspense. I asked if he wanted to go see Challengers together. He made up an excuse—said he was already going with friends. I knew it was a brush-off. Embarrassingly, I still talked to him for another month after that. Until I couldn’t anymore. One day, I just stopped replying. Let two days pass. Then I checked his profile—gone. Like none of it had ever existed. Classic. Toxic.

I was proud of myself for finally cutting it off, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss what we had in the quiet hours. That’s the thing about people—very few are all good or all bad. Sometimes good people hurt you because they don’t know what they want. Or because you bring out parts of them that they aren’t ready to face. And sometimes, you have to accept that no answer is your answer.

A year passed. I had no interest in starting over again. That last one left me burnt out and raw. I needed a break. Desperately.

Late 2024.
The air had started to crisp up—it was September now. A new quarter began, and with it came the illusion of fresh starts. I walked into class and quietly picked a seat in the back. Invisibility felt like a kind of safety. A way to avoid more disappointment. I kept to myself, eyes forward, walls up.

Then the professor announced, “You’ll all be in groups for a project due at the end of the quarter.”
I sighed. Please let the people be cool, I thought. We started forming groups. One person was missing.

Pierce the Veil

This was the song blasting through my headphones as I walked from my house to their car that December evening. We were headed to a mutual friend’s birthday dinner. They’d offered me a ride, and I said yes.

I’d dressed differently that day—skirt, moto boots, denim jacket. Not my usual baggy sweatshirt and pants. Pierce looked at me with what felt like pleasant surprise. They glanced me up and down and said, “I like your outfit.”
“Thanks,” I replied.

We walked toward the parking lot. In the car was one of Pierce’s friends. Pierce moved their skateboard off the seat to make room for me, then brought up something from months ago—our conversation back in September during the group project when we first met.
“Hey, I’ve been thinking about getting that Winona Ryder board we talked about,” they said.
“That would be so sick if you got it,” I said, settling into my seat in the back.

And then I thought: Wow, I can’t believe they still remember that. Even I kind of forgot until just now.

We stopped to pick up another one of Pierce’s friends—not too far away—and once they got in, we headed to dinner. At first, the car was quiet, like everyone was still figuring out the vibe. It eventually loosened up, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was the odd one out. The others already had a rhythm with each other, and I was just trying to find my place in it.

I listened closely, waiting for a moment to jump in. Eventually, I found it—telling a story about the time my uncle had an incident with a horse that left one of his eyes permanently damaged. He never fully recovered, and it still shows.

Pierce found it hilarious how foggy I was on the details, and the way they teased me about it felt... different. Like they were playing it up for the others in the car. It wasn’t mean, exactly, but it was performative. A side of them I hadn’t seen before. And honestly? I wasn’t sure I liked it.

Because when it was just us, they were different—quieter, more raw. Like they knew they didn’t have to perform around me. Their shoulders would relax, and their voice would soften. There was something unspoken in the way they looked at me sometimes, and I’d find myself wondering where we stood. But I never asked.

During that car ride, the conversation drifted to traffic and LA neighborhoods. Pierce mentioned they used to drive an hour out of the city all the time to see an ex. An ex—those words echoed in my head. No pronouns. So I couldn’t tell where they landed on the spectrum. Pierce knew I was bisexual, so why leave it vague? They knew I wouldn’t judge them. That was the thing about Pierce: they never talked about relationships or their dating life with me. Not once. That was on Monday.

Monday—the day Pierce and I were supposed to see a movie together after I asked them out. It hadn’t happened because the mutual friend’s dinner came up last minute, so we rescheduled for Wednesday when we had class together. The plan—go after class to watch Queer. That was a calculated move on my part. I wanted to be alone with them, and this felt like the first step in getting more time with them.

Wednesday—Pierce is in class and notices I’m not there yet. They text me, “wyaaaa.” I respond, “finishing something up, but be there in a bit.” Two minutes later, another notification pops up: “hey, can our mutual friend come?” I pretend not to see it.

I take my time on the walk, thinking about that message I didn’t open but already read. I guess they just want to be friends, I tell myself. Disappointment creeps in. Sometimes, there was a flirty energy between us. I thought they understood this invite was… kind of a date. But maybe not. It’s fine, I reassure myself. We’ll still enjoy ourselves. At least the movie will be good.

I walk in and take my seat. Another text from them, “Love the beanie.” I respond reluctantly to their text about their friend joining. I say, “Sure.” I wasn’t pumped about it, but I knew I had to agree just to get some more time with them. Then the clock strikes 6 pm. Class ends early. Pierce walks towards me, and the mutual friend asks once if it’s okay. I say, “Yeah, it’s cool.” The mutual friend knew how I felt about Pierce after I sent them a late-night text confessing to it.

We walk towards the elevator to head out. We make it downstairs, but we still have time to kill before the movie starts. The mutual friend says they want to use the time to catch up on some homework, so it’s just Pierce and me. At first, the silence feels loud. But we quickly found our rhythm. I complimented them on the skateboard they had, and they asked if I had considered riding. I said, “ I have always been interested, but I haven’t gotten around to it. Maybe you should teach me,” in a playful way. My discreet way of testing if the flirtatious energy could still be there. They reply excitedly, “Yoo, I am so down for that. Just promise me that once it gets hard, you won’t give up easily.” I say, “Trust me, you won’t have to worry about that. I like a challenge.” 6:25—the mutual friend returns, and all three of us start walking towards the theater.
We make our way inside and find our seats—Pierce on the left, me in the middle, and our mutual friend on the right. As the previews roll, Pierce and I exchange quick comments about each trailer. One of them features an actress infamous for that AMC promo, and we both immediately crack jokes. “Probably just as bad as Fifty Shades,” one of us says. “No chemistry at all,” the other replies.

The lights dim. The room quiets. The movie begins.

For most of the movie, we’re leaning in, close enough that it almost feels like a date. I share little tidbits about the cultural context of the film—having grown up in the culture portrayed. Pierce mentions how it’s not that different from their own upbringing.

Then, a character pulls out a film camera, and I nudge them. “I need to get you shooting film. I feel like you’d love it!”

“That sounds sick!” they respond, clearly intrigued.

As an ayahuasca scene plays, we start talking about spiritual practices. I tell them about curanderas in Mexico and the tradition of an egg cleanse. Pierce is fascinated—they hadn’t heard of anything like it before. I explain in more detail, and they tell me about a cousin who smoked something with ayahuasca, describing how he saw things he’d never imagined before.

Just as we’re getting deeper into this conversation, I feel a tap on my shoulder.

Our mutual friend leans in and whispers, “Hey, can you guys keep it down? The people next to us are starting to complain.”

We stay quiet for the rest of the film. Once the lights come back on, we all start sharing our thoughts. Pierce goes on and on about how hot Omar Apollo and Drew Starkey were. I stay silent—not because I disagreed, but because part of me hoped that what happened during the movie meant I hadn’t been wrong to think their interest in me might be growing, in a way that wasn’t just platonic.

One of Pierce’s friends and I had hit it off, so she invited me to her gathering on Thursday.

Thursday — by now, I had accepted that Pierce probably just saw me as a friend. Unfortunate, sure, but what can you do? I also had my eye on someone else, so it didn’t sting as much. This gathering felt like my chance to get a little closer to her — Rebel Girl.

Rebel Girl
We met around the same time I met Pierce, but only briefly. It was on a presentation day—we both showed up late and had to wait outside before rejoining the class. We made small talk about where we grew up and chatted a bit about the class. There was a subtle, playful energy in how we looked at each other—an unspoken recognition of mutual attraction. She intrigued me. I wanted to know more.

I didn’t get another chance that semester to talk to her, but then an opportunity presented itself. She was hosting an event that some of our mutual friends were planning on attending, and it was early enough that I thought to myself, “I wonder if she has a photographer yet?”

I reached out through the event page, saying I was interested in helping out, and they took me up on it. So I braced myself and did my best to hype myself up—to quiet the part of me that wanted to overthink and back out. I’m someone who, once I decide to do something, follows through. I stay true to my word.

It went really well. I felt genuinely inspired—getting to take photos again after such a long time lit something back up in me. I also got the chance to talk to Rebel a bit more. Just a little, but it made the whole thing feel worth it. The event turned into a monthly thing, and when I shot the next one, something shifted. This time, Rebel came up to me often—sometimes to check in on how things were going, other times just to chat for a moment. She was hosting, so I was surprised she even had time for that, but she made it. There was a playful energy between us, a kind of banter that bordered on flirtatious.

Back to that Thursday—I knocked on the door of an unfamiliar place where the gathering was being held. As soon as it opened, I heard Pierce’s voice ring out—loud and excited: “Hiiiiiiiiii!” Caught off guard, I replied with a more subdued, “Hey,” not quite expecting that kind of reaction.

I scanned the room, searching for an open seat. There was one—right next to Rebel.

Rebel and I spent the night talking, discovering we’d both been raised Catholic and swapping stories about what school was like for us growing up. At some point, we pulled our chairs closer, leaning in as we talked. There was something in the air between us—undeniable, and it didn’t feel like I was the only one sensing it.

Then I felt a presence approaching. My hair was covering the side of my face, so I couldn’t immediately see who it was. A familiar voice cut through the noise—Pierce, sounding a bit anxious: “So what did you think of the movie we watched last night?” I was caught off guard. We had already talked about it, so why bring it up again, now, in the middle of a conversation I was invested in? It felt... off. I kept my response brief, trying to redirect my energy back to Rebel. But Pierce didn’t walk away. They lingered, standing beside me in silence, close enough to feel like an interruption. I couldn’t help but wonder—was this their way of marking territory? Or was I just imagining it?

The clock read 11:00 p.m., and it was time for me to head out. I turned to Rebel, who lived nearby, and asked if she might be able to give me a ride. She told me she had taken an Uber with a friend, but if I waited until after the group game they were about to play, we could likely head out together and split one.

The game ends, and I ask Rebel, “You heading out?” She admits, “No, I think I’ll stay a bit longer”. I tell her, “That’s totally fine”. Pierce, who overhears the exchange, chimes in, “Oh, you’re heading out?” I nod and say, “Yeah, I’ve got work in the morning and need to be up early.” They try to convince me to stay, offering, “If you do, I can personally take you home.” I smile politely but stand firm. “I really can’t,” I say.

I’m standing at the edge of the small hallway, about five steps away from Pierce. The interaction from earlier still lingers in my mind, unsettling me. If they only saw me as a friend, why interrupt when I was connecting with someone else? From that distance, I say a simple “bye.” But they walk over and go in for a hug. Out of politeness, I hug them back. “Get home safe,” they say.

Our class ends, so I no longer have the weekly chance to see Pierce like before. Instead, we start texting daily for about a week, diving into stories from our childhoods. At one point, they say, “we would have gotten along as kids.” Even that felt like a mixed signal—just ambiguous enough to keep me guessing. Why couldn’t they ever be clear, even indirectly? Why not simply say, “We definitely would’ve been friends back then”? That would’ve made things easier to understand.

They kept trying to make plans with me—offering to take me to buy a skateboard, teach me how to skate, and even suggesting a movie marathon filled with films that were depressing but intriguing. Was I wrong to start developing feelings? According to them, I was. Eventually, I confronted them, telling them I was confused—especially after their communication started to shift—and that my feelings didn’t come out of nowhere. But to them, they did. They said they had only ever seen me as a friend. So I told them I needed a break, and we went no contact.

A month later, I reached out, saying I was feeling better and that I’d moved on. That’s when they replied, “After that confrontation, I think it’s better we don’t stay friends. If we run into each other, I’ll be excited to see you—but that’s it.”

I talked it over with my friends, and even they were confused by the whole situation. After a particularly low moment—getting blocked by a guy I’d felt an intense connection with—it started to spiral. I found myself thinking, Maybe I’m the problem. Maybe there’s something about me that pushes people away. I asked Pierce, “Am I really that off-putting? Like, is there something wrong with me that no one wants to stick around? Because this one guy I really connected with just blocked me, and it’s starting to feel like I’m the common denominator.”

Pierce said, “I’ll respond, but don’t expect this to be the start of us reconnecting.” I told them not to worry—I wasn’t trying to rekindle anything. I just wanted clarity. I needed answers from someone I believed would be completely honest with me—the kind of honesty my friends might avoid out of fear it would hurt my feelings. But with Pierce, I trusted I could get the unfiltered truth.

They said, “You read as unsure of yourself,” and followed it with, “You need to trust what you say more—don’t take it back.” They weren’t wrong. I did have a habit of unsending messages when I felt like I was coming on too strong. One of my biggest fears is being seen as annoying—it’s what got me bullied when I was younger.

“You read as unsure of yourself.” That one sentence echoed in my mind for weeks. It stung, but I needed to hear it. And despite everything, I was grateful for the honesty.

I still take that with me and use it as a reminder not to question if I feel called to say or do something. The results—much more honest connections where I got more of what I wanted from them. I stopped watching their stories, interacting with their posts, and slowly, I started to forget about them.

Until two days ago—after months of silence—their name suddenly appeared among the list of people who viewed my story. WTF.

I message one of my closest friends. He replies, “No wayyy,” followed by, “they’re so weird,” and then, “Lowkey block.”

I type in Pierce’s name and pause for a second. Should I? Yeah, this is too confusing, and I’m tired of it. My fingers hover over the button, and without hesitating, I click. Blocked. I’m free.

I tell my friend what I’ve done. He responds with, “PURRRR,” “U ATEEEE,” and “Power move asf.”

I feel proud of myself for finally cutting the cord.

2025

Angel

One of my first official dates was with this girl, Angel, from London and New York. I was so drawn to her—everything about her, from the sound of her voice, how she carried herself, her thoughts on music, her upbringing, and even her smell. I would’ve done anything to make this one work, but timing got in the way, and it ended as quickly as it started.

The one date we did go on, however, we clicked so easily, in a way I hadn’t experienced before. It was clear the attraction was mutual. One of our last exchanges was where I said, “Yeah, same, I liked spending time with you too! Sometimes the timing just isn’t there, so I get it!” I added, “If your time does ever open up in the future, even if it’s years from now, I’d love to hear from you.” She hearted the message about timing, and then she replied, “Thank you, I’ll remember that.”

I’ll admit, after that, I was slightly depressed. I listened to one song from her band on repeat because I missed the sound of her voice. Enough so that it will probably end up as one of my top tracks on Spotify Wrapped, no matter how many hours and days I spent listening to other things. I just looked up the song again, thinking about whether I should link it here to help with her streams. I scroll down to see a picture of her I hadn’t seen. An audible scream came out. Ugh, she looks so hot :/

This has already gotten long, so let me know if I should make a pt.2