Love at First Sight

I’ve always hated the cliché of “love at first sight.” It sounded like a fairy tale for people who needed love to happen quickly, like a lightning strike instead of a slow burn. But then it happened to me.

Junior year of high school.
The world didn’t just slow down — it stopped. The noise of the hallway, the shuffle of books, the chatter of classmates… it all muted. The only thing alive in that moment was him. My eyes locked onto his, and it wasn’t fireworks or flames, but something quieter, heavier — like the universe leaning in to whisper: pay attention.

I remember thinking, where did this red string come from? It wasn’t new. It had been tied to me long before that moment, tucked behind me, invisible until we crossed paths. When our eyes met, the string shifted to the front, stretching taut between us, undeniable. Suddenly, it made sense why nothing else had ever stuck — I’d been waiting for him all along.

And yet, fate is a trickster. That string tied us together, yes, but it didn’t promise ease. Life has tugged at us, pulled us in opposite directions — me to the east coast, him still on the west. And still, the string holds. Distance, silence, time… none of it has managed to cut it.

I don’t know if we’ll ever end up in the same place, if our lives will find their way back to one another. But I do know this: when I think of love at first sight, it isn’t about falling instantly or recklessly. It’s about recognition. A quiet, undeniable knowing that this person has always been part of your story — you just hadn’t turned the page yet.

Some loves burn fast and fade. Some loves crawl slowly into your bones. And then there are the ones that feel like they were written into you from the beginning, stitched in red thread, waiting for the day you finally notice.