Everyone remembers their Big University Romance. I can sum up mine up with a few pretty sad stats. 3 years. Thousands of texts. And one lousy kiss – at the airport, of all places.
We met in halls, where it feels like everyone is simultaneously trying to reinvent themselves and also find themselves. Not sure how that one works. Our respective friend groups merged perfectly, mostly because no one wants to eat in the dining hall alone.
He and I clicked embarrassingly well. We’d somehow always end up next to each other at dinner, walking home from town together, or being the last two standing after a night out. We liked the same music, laughed at the same dumb jokes, and had more than enough chemistry. Over the years, I heard of at least three of my friends planning our wedding.
In fact, the only people who didn't seem to realise we liked each other was us. Or maybe we knew, and we were just cowards. Anyway, literally nothing physical happened for our entire first year. Until it did. While he was dropping me off at the airport before we went our separate ways for the summer, he made a move. It wasn’t passionate, it wasn’t even very coordinated. It was the kind of clumsy, awkward kiss that lasted for approximately three seconds before he pulled away and said, “Well… have a good flight.”
Then we didn't see each other for three months. Yes, the daily texts continued. But it all felt completely detached from the spark I thought was between us. That’s the thing with summer – it seems three months is exactly how long it takes to completely erase any confidence you’ve built up with someone.
Second year rolls in, and we move into our flats at opposite ends of North Dunedin. Miraculously, our flat groups get together again, and so we continue spending a lot of time together, falling back into our old routines. Unfortunately, this year is a bit more complicated. Our two flat groups realised they didn't actually like one another that much and they were just hanging out for our sake. Fuck!
Instead of making things simple for ourselves and just starting to date, we did what any emotionally intelligent young adults would do. As our respective friend groups started to lowkey hate each other, we kept texting in secret. Nothing scandalous, but no one else really knew how much we kept talking. I spent semesters swinging back and forth between thoughts of “maybe he doesn’t like me as anything more than a friend” and “hang on – maybe he does.”
I’m embarrassed to say it continued like that for three years, with us only kissing that one time in first-year. Eventually, we both graduated, moved away and stopped texting. Not because anything happened, but because nothing ever did.
Looking back, I'm not sure if I was just scared of rejection. I mean sure, that was there, but I think it was also the idea of ruining the possibility. People always say university is where you meet the love of your life. Personally, I met the almost-love of mine.
