We used to bike all the time together.

In the fall, to school, we would race each other excitedly, beat-up sneakers pressing the pedals. The loser would have to buy the winner a snack, but we never really remembered to do that. We had so much fun cycling through the streets, pointing out the leaves that were being slowly consumed by fire. They would turn a soft gold at first, like your clinking necklaces, then a brilliant orange, like the cover of your history notebook, then a blazing red, like the cherry candy you loved so much.

Our laughter tinkled out like windchimes in the brisk autumn wind, hair blowing back to reveal our foreheads. You always teased me for my five-head, but I never minded. I had always donned my favorite brown hoodie, and you insisted on wearing the blouses you loved so much, even though I made out the goosebumps raising on your arms. I’d offer you my hoodie, worried about you falling ill.

In the winter, to school, we braved the chill to ride together. It was always so beautiful riding out in the early mornings. The gnarly branches of the bare trees seemed less scary when I was with you. The still-dark sky lightened as we rode on the asphalt, and we pretended that our job was to bring light to the sleeping world, awakening them with the rising sun. I loved it when snow gently fell, dotting our dark hair. You grumbled and say that it looked like dandruff, but to me, it looked more like stars.

My parents didn’t care about what I did, but you always complained about how your parents didn’t want you to catch a cold. We were always so bundled up, resembling marshmallows on bicycles. We bought matching puffer jackets that year, a dandelion shade of yellow that you said reminded you of the sun. As you said that, a smile would bloom on your face like it was early spring. You mistook the flush on my cheeks for the winter chill.

In the spring, to school, we leisurely cycled. We wanted to take in the blossoming view, eyes widening as we saw the first buds of spring- . We would always make it a contest to spot the first flower, but I let you win each time. Springtime was my favorite: we slowed down to admire the awakening world around us, and that gave just the two of us more time.

The birds chirping and slowly greening trees made your face light up with joy, and that made waking up even earlier worth it. It was during those rides together that we grew closer. I learned about your controlling mother, your dream of owning 10 bunnies, your favorite songs, your everything. I still remember all the things you told me.

Then, summer came, when our sweaty flip flops would pedal unsteadily, wavering in the heat. As the sun’s heat arose, our relationship started to burn on the glimmering asphalt. I fucked everything up.

You had started to talk with this one guy. He was much taller than you, our class vice president, and played varsity soccer. He was everything I couldn’t be. Envy snaked around me, squeezing my chest so it got hard to breathe. You loved him, and I hated him, but we continued to be friends. But whenever we hung out, whenever you talked about him, sour bile rose in my throat. It got unbearable to see the girl I loved with all my soul talk about another person.

I wanted you to be happy, so I let go of my feelings. I tried to bury them, but they only ended up resurfacing from pressure: the pressure and heat from our fight that summer.

You were always hanging out with him. And I guessed it was normal for two lovebirds to fly off together- not like I knew better. That was fine, I guess. I had other things to do. The last straw was when you said you couldn’t come to my birthday dinner because he made a reservation at a nicer place. You didn’t say that part, but it was…hinted at.

Walking out of my birthday dinner, my eyes met yours as you were walking from dinner with him. I gritted my teeth to prevent myself from vomiting ugly words over you.

“Aliyah? How are you? I miss you. I…My birthday wasn’t the same without you. Why couldn’t you have come? That restaurant…It’s not even that good. I just, I don’t know, I thought we were better friends than this. Why didn’t you come? Do you really love him more than me?” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could process the tears spilling over my cheeks. 

Your face was of a stranger’s. I could make out the pity and sympathy in your eyes, but it didn’t quite reach the surface of them. You had changed. But I still loved you.

We stopped being friends. The bike I loved so much laid in the garage, dusty and drooping on the wall. I couldn’t bear riding it for the rest of the summer- it dredged up once joyous memories that now brought tears pricking my eyes. My parents asked about you; to that I responded with excuses of how you were busy (with your new boyfriend). You didn’t block me, and liked my Instagram stories, and that was the buoy that kept me afloat. When I ran into you, my heart dropping to my throat, you’d throw a small smile to me, the one you reserved for “distant acquaintances from school”. I don’t know if I imagined your longing eyes when you glanced back.

This summer I stayed in my room, fingers hesitating over the “send text” button, retyping and deleting and retyping and deleting paragraphs of apologies, insults, telling you how my day went…I kept replaying that scene in my head, imaging what would’ve happened if I had said something else or even just shut my stupid mouth, or if you had actually cared. 

This fall, I biked alone. I missed you so much my heart squeezed itself dry, turning into a hard, bitter lump of coal. My bike rides were accompanied with silence and melancholy. The chill breeze was a welcome sense; its biting fangs helped me temporarily forget about you. My tears dripped along with the falling leaves, and I buried my turmoiled feelings by blasting music in my ears. I stopped listening to your favorite artists. You unfollowed me on Spotify.

This winter, I found new friends to bike with. They weren’t the same as you, of course, but they were special in their own way. Instead of finding the pale beauty in winter, they told horror stories and I would shriek when one of them brushed my shoulder with a branch. They didn’t like wearing bright colors like you, and I had to remind myself that they were different people. I felt like I was stepping on glass around them: I knew nothing, strung along with a different crowd. I felt like a dog amongst foxes. It was hard to keep up with the sly way they talked, my childish barks not quite fitting in. We biked faster than I ever had, legs pumping hard to escape the cold. When we arrived early at school, I would sometimes catch you and him walking hand-in-hand. We pretended not to know each other.

This spring, I finally found the courage to laugh again. I had friends who liked girls, like me, and they listened to my story about us. You were the love interest, to me, but my friends thought you were more like the villain. I didn’t say anything. I still kept the matching friendship necklace we bought together; it’s hanging on the jewelry stand in my room. You gave me a plushie that I used to sleep with all the time. Now, it’s in a basket deep in my closet. One day I’ll summon the courage to give it away.

This summer, while cycling in a marathon, I finally realized that I not only lost my best friend, but my first love. As my legs pumped in mechanical rotation, eyes squinting in the harsh sunlight, I caught a glimpse of you in the crowd lining the sides, and I only snagged your eyes for a millisecond before I zipped past. The first thought I had of you was if I had liked you as a friend or as a crush longer- my heart answered that with a quickening pulse. Was our friendship ever just being friends to me?

Now, you’re like an old photograph. It’s already been a year, and my memories of us stab me with nostalgia, melancholy, and euphoria, and other sentiments that beat the shit out of my heart. I talk of you like you’re a fictional character or a shadow of the past. A year has passed, and I’ve changed a lot. You probably have too. I know you’re not the girl who was my first love anymore, and not the same best friend who I could always rely on.

Like with every old crush, I laugh at how I used to like you and how delusional I was.

Like with every ex-best-friend, I bitterly insult you and think of you much too fondly at the same time.

Maybe one day, if I ever get married to a girl, probably looking a bit like you, I’ll tell her about you. The first girl I loved so purely that I dug myself a pit I was bound to fall into, whose laugh replays in my mind, whose memory makes my heart ache for another universe where maybe, just maybe, you might’ve liked me back.