The Holiday Romance

Image courtesy of Anastasia Skylar under the Unsplash Licence

I had met him six months before at a university bar. We talked all night, just chatting. At the end, I said to him: “Well, it’s been nice knowing you.” In my head, that was it. I thought about him from time to time, even asked my friends who knew of him if he was single. But I never reached out and had no plan to.

I had always been the one who had never been pursued. As my friends were on their latest partners, I remained, like Drew Barrymore, having never been kissed. Hence, the concept of dating scared me.

I left that night alone, with a memory I didn’t want ruined. I felt like I was in the TV show, How I Met Your Mother. There’s an episode in which the protagonist, Ted, meets a girl, Victoria, at a wedding. He has the perfect romantic night with her, but then they go their separate ways, forever.

The perfect night – no strings, no sex, just one night in someone else’s company, never to be seen again.

Of course, the story of Ted and Victoria does not end there. In the following episode, Ted goes to find Victoria. They date for a while and then break up when Victoria moves to Germany. And like Ted, I knew that my story with this person wasn’t over.

This summer, my friends and I were booked for a week-long group holiday, filled with sightseeing, bonding, and time off. He was in the very same group. My first instinct was to avoid him. Did he remember all those hours we spent together? He had had a few drinks that night. But I knew I wasn’t going to be the one to mention it first. I certainly had no intention of making the first move. I had never encountered someone being romantically interested in me, so I didn’t quite know what the signs were. Was I even interested? Or was my perception of the night we first met warped?

After a few days and some conversing, it all became glaringly obvious. I could not ignore that there was a connection between us; a simple hug cemented it all. Then more hugs. He felt safe, like a calming presence only he could provide. 

Our first time cuddling was my first cuddle in which I felt good. When he went to hold my hand for the first time, I didn’t quite catch the hint. The last time I’d held hands with someone was when I was 12, with my school “boyfriend”. We were interlocked, and not once did I feel the need to escape. It seemed so natural. 

Then came our first kiss, more importantly, my first kiss, a goal I had written on my year 9 bucket list. Awkwardly beautiful. However, I was terrified of my inexperience, but he was patient. It was a level of closeness I had never before achieved. This connection of bodies in such a way, to feel arms wrapped around me without platonic intent, I went to sleep that night the happiest I had been in months. 

For the rest of the trip, we were practically inseparable. I looked for him in every room. I sat next to him on every bus ride and at every meal. In times when it was not appropriate to hold each other, we still could not keep our hands away. If all of our fingers were not entangled, our pinkies would be.

One moment we’d be running around, trying to find somewhere for us to be alone, the next, we’d be sat in a group with my head nestled between his jaw and shoulder. I felt comfortable there. 

I had never opened up like this before. Only once had I ever desired someone in such a way, but it was unrequited. I had spent my entire first semester moping over that situation, telling myself that if actually being with someone is as painful as being someone’s shameful secret, I would never give in to the concept known as “love.”

However, those few days were bliss, a wealth of new experiences that only weeks before, I was reading about in cheesy romance novels, wondering when it was my turn. I now had it all. 

But beyond the sun’s heat abroad, our lives were incompatible. We were in different cities and, at times, different countries. We were at different stages. The fast replies became slower. The flirty, excited messages became cold. I was not ready to let go, but I knew if I continued to push, I would ruin any semblance of a relationship between us. It was not the right time.

In no way did I love him, I hardly knew him, and he barely knew me. We’d covered some of our deepest secrets, but I had forgotten what date his birthday was. He knew what my lips felt like, but he didn’t know my favourite colour. 

Even so, I struggled with the silence. He had been in my life for such a short amount of time, and yet, he’d left a huge impact. To no longer hear from him every day felt abnormal. It’s strange to say, but even now, I can’t recall my life without him in it. And he’s only been meaningful to me for less than 1% of it. 

Ted and Victoria got together again several years after their initial break-up, only to end their relationship for good. Despite it being a fictional TV show, this is why I love the way the universe works. We are sent people who are instrumental in our lives exactly when we need them. He made me feel less lonely at a time when I needed that most.

Although my memory of our brief encounter remains positive and intact, recalling the distance and difference that followed is painful. I would say that we are friends now. I saw him recently as part of a group and hugged him at the end of the night, but it was not the same.

I still want to seek him out in every room, but I know I shouldn’t. I believe him to be a wonderful person, but I know that

I need to move on from the memories of our nights under the stars. It was a nice escape from reality, but the actualities of life are not something you can always run from.

Deep down, I am proud of myself for finally letting my guard down and opening up to the possibility of romance, after years of denouncing and rejecting its existence within me. 

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Edited by Zarah Hashim, Sex and Relationship Editor