Her voice was like a melody, soft yet clear, and I found myself fumbling for words. “Uh, yeah, Gladys is… I think she’s in the library,” I managed to stutter.
“Thanks,” Raina replied with a smile, turning to leave. She took a few steps, then hesitated. “You know, George, I’ve seen you around a lot. Maybe we could all hang out sometime.”
Naturally, I nodded, my brain still catching up to the fact that Raina, the girl I thought was out of my league, had just suggested we hang out. I watched her walk away, the sunlight filtering through the corridor windows, casting a warm glow on her as if the universe was giving me a nudge.
Later that evening, I caught up with Gladys. “You’ll never believe who spoke to me today,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual.
Without hesitation, she guessed, “Raina?”—grinning like she’d orchestrated the whole thing.
“How did you—”
“She asked me about you yesterday. Said you seem interesting.” Gladys nudged me playfully. “I told you, George. You need to start believing that good things can happen to you.”
Admittedly, I wanted to believe her. However, the weight of my dad’s expectations and my own insecurities always held me back. Still, Raina had spoken to me, and that alone was a step into unfamiliar territory.
A week later, our paths crossed again. This time, she was alone, sitting under a jacaranda tree with a sketchbook on her lap. Her long hair was tied in a messy bun, and her glasses balanced on the bridge of her nose, giving her a studious yet effortlessly beautiful look.
So, I approached her. “Hey,” I said, walking up. “What are you drawing?”
She looked up, her eyes lighting up. “Just doodling. Sometimes I need a break from all the academics.” Then, she showed me the page, a mix of flowers and abstract shapes, a peek into her artistic side.
From there, we ended up talking for hours. Raina shared her love for art—how it was her escape from the pressures of her family. Coming from a traditional Asian household where expectations were rigid, the idea of an arranged marriage loomed over her like a shadow. Though she spoke of it lightly, I could see the strain beneath her words.
In turn, I shared my own stories—my dad’s dreams, my struggle to balance my ambitions with his expectations. For the first time, I felt like someone truly understood me. We were from different worlds, yet our battles were surprisingly similar.
As the days passed, our friendship blossomed quickly. We started meeting between classes, sharing coffee at the campus café, and taking long walks around the university gardens. There was always this unspoken tension, a spark that neither of us acknowledged but both felt.
Then one Saturday, I invited her for a picnic. The sky was clear, and the soft breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers. I spread a blanket under a tree, and we spent the afternoon talking, laughing, and sharing childhood stories. She looked so carefree, her laughter echoing through the park, and I realized just how deeply I had fallen for her.
But eventually, the change came. The brightness in her eyes dimmed, and a cloud of sadness settled over her. At first, I thought I had done something wrong. So, I replayed every conversation, every moment, trying to figure out where I had messed up. She became distant, her once vibrant smile now a mere shadow of itself.
Desperate for answers, I turned to her best friend. “Please, just tell me what’s going on,” I begged. “I need to know if I did something.”
Her friend hesitated, biting her lip. “It’s not you, George. It’s her family. They’re pushing harder for an arranged marriage. They’ve started reaching out to families, but… things aren’t going well. The boys’ families keep rejecting her. They’re running out of options, and it’s putting a lot of pressure on her.”
Instantly, the weight of her words sank into me. I had thought my battle with expectations was tough, but Raina’s was a whole different struggle. Her family wasn’t just disappointed—they were desperate.
Consequently, I knew I had to talk to her. When I finally found her, she was sitting on a bench by the campus lake, her reflection wavering in the water like the uncertainty in her life.
“Raina,” I said gently, sitting beside her. “I know what’s happening. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t want this, George. I don’t want to be with someone I don’t love. But my family… they won’t listen. They think they’re doing what’s best for me.”
Reaching out, I took her hand, the warmth of her skin a fragile connection to reality. “What do you want, Raina? Not your family, not tradition. What do you want?”
Her fingers tightened around mine. “I want this. Us. But I’m scared. I don’t know how to fight them.”
“Then we’ll fight together,” I said. Honestly, the words surprised even me, but I meant them. I was ready to stand by her, no matter what it took.
Of course, the road ahead was anything but smooth. We faced whispers and judgment—not just from her community but from some of my friends too. Nevertheless, Raina and I held on to each other, two souls navigating a world that didn’t always understand us.
It wasn’t easy. Her parents tried everything—guilt, silence, and even threats to cut her off. Still, Raina stood firm, and I stood with her. Over time, her family began to see that their daughter’s happiness mattered more than tradition. It took months of hard conversations and small acts of defiance, but eventually, they accepted us.
Looking back, I realize how much I learned from Raina. Ultimately, she taught me about courage, about fighting for love, and about finding beauty in life’s imperfections. She wasn’t just my first Asian girlfriend—she was my first love, the kind that changes you forever.