Here's a pretty bad childhood memory. One Valentine's Day on a Sunday morning, I bought a rose. I was 12.
That day, my mom took me to church. I used to go every week but not anymore. I had to hide the rose in the car somewhere, because my mom was super strict about me dating before university, and still is. Man, she'd totally kill me if she ever found out the things I've done. Anyways, I got to church and saw the girl that I had a crush on. Let's call her Blanket. Completely random. Blanket was looking as radiant as ever (or so I thought at the time). I waited until after the morning session was over. I asked my mom for the car keys, ran to it and took out the rose then ran back. Blanket was talking to a couple of her friends. I waited for the right moment and finally mustered up the courage to tell her that I liked her, then presented to her the rose. You should know that that was my first ever confession.
What happened next was something I never would have expected to happen, not in a gazillion years.
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