Because You Reject Other People's Pursuit? Never!

That summer, I bumped into Ryan and his mom shopping at the mall while hanging out with my friends.

His mom waved at me, all excited, "Hey there, Kayla, darling!"

I waved back, playing it cool.

Ryan, stuck in his moody teen phase, just scowled and marched past without so much as a smile.

My friends started buzzing, "He's totally cute! Kayla, is he your guy?"

I couldn't help feeling a bit smug but brushed it off, "No way, we've just known each other forever. Our parents are tight, that's all."

"He's older, right? He's so tall! Can you hook me up with his digits?"

The next day, Ryan showed up at my place. With my parents out, it was just us. He marched me straight to my room as soon as he got in.

I was always the short one, skinny too. But Ryan, three years up and over six feet, effortlessly hoisted me onto the desk so we could see eye to eye.

He looked pissed, "You giving out my number?"

Yeah, I did it on purpose.

I wanted to see if he'd actually respond.

But playing the innocent, I blinked and said, "She thought you were cute, and wanted to make you her honorary big bro."

Ryan lowered his voice, "Ever heard of college prep? I need to study, not deal with this mess every day."

Ryan's anger always scared me. He's usually so stoic, but his glare when mad? Downright chilling. I never dared pick fights with him.

But crying? That I could do.

"Just ignore her! Why get mad at me? Go study, I'm not stopping you, waaaah."

My tears always disarmed him. Never fails.

He wasn't one for soothing words, though. He just used the sleeve of his expensive hoodie to wipe away my tears.

By the time I forgot why I was crying, messing with the drawstrings of his hoodie, Ryan got serious again.

"Do you even get what we are to each other?"

I messed up the strings into a bunch of knots, trying to hide them inside his hoodie. But before I could sneak my hand in further, he grabbed my wrist.

"Sure, sure, I get it."

He eyed me skeptically, "Really get it?"

I shot back, "We're gonna end up married, aren't we?"

Ryan, usually unreadable, just quirked an eyebrow at that.

"You know what marriage even means?"

Like I'm some kind of fool?

I was about to jump off the desk to defend myself.

Ryan's eyes suddenly bulged.

I turned, spotting a crimson stain on the white paper where I'd been sitting.

My first period was later than any girl else at my age, and it had to happen then. I clutched my backside, feeling the dampness spread.

Embarrassed doesn't even cut it.

Mortified and frantic, tears streaming, I made for the door.

Ryan stepped in front, and I figured he was about to tease me, but he just asked, "Got any... you know, supplies?"

Tears in my eyes, I shook my head and blurted out, "No! And if you dare tell anyone about this, I'll never talk to you again!"

Ryan glanced at me, then turned and left.

I didn't dare move until I heard the front door shut. Then I sprinted to the bathroom, but no pads were to be found.

Desperate, I stuffed my underwear with toilet paper and started an awkward shuffle to the local store.

Just as I opened the door, there was Ryan, holding a black plastic bag.

He was panting like he'd run a marathon and then thrust the bag into my hands.

"Stay away from cold stuff."

He turned and walked off without another word.

I peeked inside the bag: three packs of pads.

One was for day, one for night, and one containing minis.

I could just picture Ryan, face as unreadable as ever, choosing pads in the aisle, checking the sizes.

I've kept those three packs to this day, tucked away with my most treasured birthday gifts.

They're just too meaningful to toss.