"The Kiss That Never Happened"

It was 2018. I was 19 years old—shy, innocent, a typical padhaku baccha who rarely even looked into a girl’s eyes. I was in the second year of college when a childhood friend came to my house and told me that his neighbor was looking for a chemistry tutor for her daughter in Class 12. I used to teach some boys before, but I had never taught a girl. I hesitated, but agreed. For the first month, everything felt normal. I was focused on my teaching. But after a few sessions, she started doing strange things—subtle touches with her bare feet, lingering physical closeness. I ignored it at first, trying to stay professional. When I told my friend about it, he casually said, "Abhay, grab the opportunity. She’s probably hungry." I didn’t understand what he meant then. Then one day, out of nowhere, she looked at me and asked, "Are you gay?" I was stunned. "What? No!" I replied, confused. She giggled and later sent me gay memes on Facebook. I felt humiliated. Maybe she thought I wasn’t responding to her touches because I wasn’t into girls. That hit me hard. That night, something changed in me. Her teasing, the rejection of my masculinity—it triggered something deep. I decided I wouldn’t be silent anymore. That was the moment the emotions started to flow—curiosity, attraction, longing. Soon after, she told me she had a boyfriend—and his name was also Abhay. I felt jealous. Maybe I was already falling for her without realizing it. I asked her for her Facebook ID, and we started chatting constantly. She confided that her father had beaten her after catching her with her boyfriend. She had run away from home, and I was the one she leaned on emotionally. I tried to be the ‘good influence.’ I told her that love and relationships would only distract her from studies. Eventually, she broke up with her boyfriend—partly because of me. He started threatening me, but I kept chatting with her anyway. Meanwhile, her behavior during tuition became more flirtatious. She’d touch my cheek like I was a child. One day, I responded by touching hers too—but her mother saw us. Thankfully, she defended me. But after that, her parents grew suspicious and made her younger brother study alongside her. It made our interactions more difficult, but we still found our moments. She eventually confessed that she liked me. I confessed too. She even asked if I would marry her one day. I laughed it off, thinking she was just a “nibbi”—but truthfully, I was the “nibba.” One day while teaching, she pulled my collar and kissed me on the cheek. I was stunned. Shy. Nervous. My heart pounded uncontrollably. I wanted to kiss her back. She leaned in and asked me to do it. I managed to kiss her on the cheek, trembling. She had chocolates with her—maybe she was expecting a real kiss. But I didn’t understand the signal. She went to the bathroom, and I left. Later that night, I texted her saying I wanted a liplock. She said, "Then start first." I told her I was too shy. She promised she would do it for me someday. She had done it few times before with her ex boyfriends. But despite all the build-up, the lip kiss never happened. She only touched her lips with mine briefly a few times—but never a real kiss. That promise stayed unfulfilled. That’s why it still haunts me emotionally. It was the kiss that never happened, but was imagined a thousand times later. Then came my SSB interview in Coimbatore. I traveled with my father, but my mind was stuck with her. I failed the interview in the first round—my first real failure in life. But I didn’t care much. I just wanted to get back to her. When I returned, she hugged me emotionally, kissed my cheeks and hands. I kissed hers. It felt like love. But one night I fell asleep while chatting with her, and my sister read our messages. She told my parents. They took away my phone, forbade me from seeing her. I told the girl everything. She begged me to continue teaching. So I started secretly going to her house instead of college. It went on for three days. Every day she would touch her lips with mine, but still no kiss. Then my parents caught me at her home. Her mom said, "I had a doubt on him." And that was it. No kiss. No closure. Just shame. After that, her chats became rare. One month later, she told me she liked a new boy from her class. She told me to take care of my mother—who had just recovered from partial paralysis—and left me. She made a new Facebook ID, blocked me. When I messaged her through another ID, crying, begging, she replied: "I don’t like you anymore. Stay away from me and my Shubham." That broke something in me. I was told by others she was just a “thirsty girl,” and that she used me to satisfy her flirtatious desires. Maybe it’s true. Maybe not. But my heart wasn’t ready to believe it. After that, I changed. I became an introvert. I lost trust in people. I stayed abnormal for two years. Even four years later, I still missed her. I still do sometimes. I had true feelings. But she… she was dishonest. And slowly… love turned into lust. I became addicted to masturbation. Every single day. It became a coping mechanism, an escape. I saw my body deteriorate. My weight dropped. I still look 18. No beard. No proper growth. It’s like time froze. Emotionally, physically, mentally—I didn’t move on. After graduation, my father retired. He came home and refused to let me study further. All he wanted was for me to prepare for government jobs. I was forced into something I wasn’t emotionally ready for. Seven years passed. I still haven’t cracked a government job. My career never started. I’m still at home. And sometimes… she visits me in my dreams. I wake up breathless, panicked, confused. That subconscious memory refuses to fade. It lives deep inside—like a scar that doesn’t bleed but still hurts when touched.