African American female teen writing in journal

Photo Credit – Google

Dear Diary.

Today I remember him, that doctor. If anyone had told me we were never going to be an item I’d have called that person a liar, but that was exactly what happened. We had sparks, there was smoke, but somehow we never made the progression to flames.

I’m still wondering what it was i did wrong. One minute we were vibing and getting closer and the next, fiam, dude went cold.

Just like that.

Truth be told, when it all started I wasn’t sure. You know how some of those young doctors were, sending out signals in the hope of a cheap lay before returning to their waiting girlfriends and even wives in some cases. But as time progressed it became clearer by the hour that he was doing the groundwork for a lasting relationship. He was feeling me for real, which is why I still can’t understand why he never said a thing.

I miss him. A lot. I miss his easy gap-toothed smile. I miss his intelligence. Yes doctors are supposed to be naturally intelligent, but he had that something extra about him. Also, he never made me feel out of place. I was a mere nursing student while he was already a house officer, but you’d have had to ask to know that we weren’t mates on the same level. He was that down to earth, unlike a lot of his mates who would look down their noses at anyone not having had the privilege of finishing medical school.

He was fun and caring, and he noticed things too. Like that time he gave me a phone. I only received one call in his presence, but somehow he saw that my phone needed replacement. I was actually contributing money from my feeding allowance to get another one, which was tough considering how meager it was, but out of nowhere he surprised me with that cute LG.

I remember that afternoon like yesterday. We’d just finished lunch which he paid for, and I can still see the smile on his handsome face as he watched me almost scream with excitement at the gift he just gave me. I still have that phone wrapped and hidden in my wardrobe, and will always treasure it because it reminds me of him.

That singular act of kindness erased the little doubts I had in my mind about the sincerity of his intentions, and I was eagerly waiting for him to pop the question.

Somehow he never did, and to this day I wonder why.

I know it’s been years, but I still can’t forget him. I hope we meet again, here or in another life. Maybe then I’ll have enough courage to ask him what actually went wrong, if only to answer the questions in my heart.

A girl needs to know.