If I Could Rewrite Love, Would It Still Hurt This Way? | A Jhocey AU

Dear Younger Me,

You never planned to fall for her.

It wasn’t the kind of love story people write about. No lightning strike, no grand realization, no moment where the world suddenly tilted on its axis. It was quieter. Slower.

She was just there.

At first, she was nothing more than someone in your orbit—reserved, careful, observing rather than taking up space. And you? You weren’t looking for anything. Not really. But you found yourself drawn to her anyway. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, so steady and sure in a way that made you wonder what that kind of certainty felt like. Maybe it was how she didn’t try to impress anyone, but still made you want to impress her.

And so, you kept coming back.

First, in little ways. Sitting next to her even when there were other seats available. Asking her opinion just to hear her voice. Learning what made her laugh—not the polite kind she gave to everyone else, but the real, startled kind that made her eyes light up.

You told yourself it was nothing.

But then ‘nothing’ became everything.

And by the time you realized it, leaving was never an option.

Not yet, anyway.

—Samantha Villamor

I used to think love was something you chased. Something you ran toward, full-speed, knowing exactly what it looked like when you got there.

But with Jules, love wasn’t a chase.

It was a quiet, inevitable pull—like gravity.

And maybe that’s why I never saw the fall coming.

Dear Younger Me,

You never planned to stay.

That’s the truth you don’t want to admit.

You were always the kind of person who kept one foot out the door. It wasn’t about not caring, it was about survival. Staying meant roots, and roots meant something to lose. It was easier to keep moving, to let places and people blur together before they could matter too much.

But then came Jules.

And for the first time, you forgot to keep track of all the exits.

She was steady in a way that should have made you restless. The kind of person who made plans and actually followed through. Someone who thought three steps ahead while you barely thought past tomorrow. But instead of feeling caged by it, you found yourself leaning in. Reaching for her before you even realized you were doing it.

At first, you told yourself it was just comfort.

Then it became something like home.

And for the first time, you weren’t afraid of standing still.

—Sam

I used to think love was supposed to feel like movement. Like always wanting more, always looking for the next spark.

But with Jules, love felt like stillness.

And somehow, that was the most terrifying part.

Dear Younger Me,

You told yourself you stayed because she made you laugh.

Because she had this way of turning ordinary moments into something more. Like how she narrated grocery runs like a dramatic movie trailer, or how she could make even the most boring nights feel like an adventure.

But if you’re being honest, it wasn’t just that.

You stayed because she grounded you.

Because for the first time, you weren’t just passing through someone’s life. You had someone looking at you like you mattered. Someone who saw you, not just the version of yourself you let everyone see, but the messy, complicated, restless parts, too.

And that scared you.

Because what happens when someone becomes your anchor?

What happens when you realize you don’t know who you are without them?

You stayed because you loved her. But also because you were afraid.

Afraid that without her, you’d be lost again.

Afraid that without her, you wouldn’t know how to stand still.

—Sam

Love isn’t just about finding someone who makes you happy.

It’s about finding someone who makes you want to be better.

And maybe that’s why I was so afraid of losing her.

Dear Younger Me,

You thought love would always feel this easy.

The laughter. The late night walks. The way she’d squeeze your hand twice—once for I’m here, and once for I love you.

You thought that was enough.

And for a while, it was.

But then the questions started creeping in. Not hers, but yours.

"What happens next?"
"Are we supposed to stay like this forever?"
"Why does forever feel so heavy?"

You didn’t know how to explain it. How could you, when nothing was wrong? You still loved her. You still wanted to be with her. But something inside you was shifting, and you didn’t know how to make it stop.

So you ignored it. Smiled through the unease. Told yourself that love—real love—wasn’t supposed to be this uncertain.

That if you just held on tighter, the feeling would pass.

But love isn’t about holding your breath, waiting for the fear to go away.

And you, of all people, should’ve known that love isn’t supposed to feel like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

—Sam

Sometimes, love fades so quietly, you almost miss it happening.

Dear Younger Me,

You always thought leaving would be the hardest thing.

You were wrong.

Staying, knowing, was harder.

You saw the way Jules looked at you—like you were something certain. And for a while, you let yourself believe it too. That as long as you stayed, as long as you chose her, nothing else would matter.

But love isn’t just about staying.

Love is choosing. Again and again. Not out of fear, not because you don’t know who you are without them, but because even in the quiet, even in the hard moments, you still want to.

You held on because you loved her. But you also held on because you were afraid.

Afraid of what it meant to let go.

Afraid of what you would find on the other side of love.

—Sam

I loved you. I stayed.

But I never asked myself if I still wanted to.

Dear Younger Me,

You thought love was enough.

And maybe, for a while, it was.

But love should never be the thing that keeps you from yourself.

You didn’t see it then, but a part of you was already slipping away. You ignored the way your world started shrinking, how you kept making yourself smaller just to fit into the life you thought you were supposed to want.

You kept waiting for it to feel right again.

It didn’t.

And maybe deep down, you always knew it wouldn’t.

But for now, you didn’t ask.

You just stayed.

Because staying was easier than asking what came after love.

—Sam

Maybe if I had asked, I wouldn’t have been so afraid of the answer.