Sing to me

Their first and last love

      What is first love? It is the love that you will never forget, it changes your life, dividing it into before and after, and in the end it causes such pain that you wish not only for your heart to turn to stone, but for you to become that stone and never feel anything ever again. Everyone says that first love is the most painful. Everyone says that first love always has an expiration date. All the books write about it. Even parents say it passes, that your heart will ache and stop, and you will finally become an adult, having fully experienced all the bitterness of first love.       That's what Tom was told from an early age. And the words of caution were repeated when he met this very first love at the age of sixteen. And then they were lamented when this first love broke Holland's heart. Or no, not quite: they both broke each other's hearts, renouncing those innocent and beautiful feelings.       Tom regretted it. Regretted it a lot. He wanted to find Christine—his first love, but he couldn't. The girl had moved with her parents to another city and all communication was cut off—she changed her phone number, deleted all her social media accounts, and cut ties with the friends that remained in London. All so that Holland would no longer have access to her heart...       Their teenage first love had ended. Everyone told Tom to forget about it, go through it and get over it, because first love is not forever. And Holland wanted to believe in it. Really wanted to, because everyone around him kept saying so. But deep down, he understood—maybe this love was the first one, but no one else would evoke such feelings in him as Christine did with just one look of her big green eyes.       Over time, the feelings dulled. Tom was able to date other girls, but still felt that something was missing…       And later, when Tom achieved his dream and became a Hollywood actor, in every interview where he was asked about his first love, and to share it, he just evaded the question and said that those were the most beautiful days of his life. That he only had the happiest memories of that love.       Today there was an informal party to celebrate the presentation of the script for a new film that was promised to become iconic.       "They say the script was written by a young screenwriter from England," Tom was distracted from the dilemma of choosing between a salmon tartlet or caviar by Andrew Garfield.       "Mmm," Holland ambiguously murmured in response and, choosing the salmon tartlet, reached for it.       "And they also say that she is young and beautiful," Andrew enthusiastically added.       Tom smirked and quickly swallowed a small appetizer.       "Do you still hope to meet your love on set?" Tom asked, after washing down the tartlet with water. "Don't you think that since she is young, beautiful, and talented, she probably already has someone?"       "What if not," Andrew shrugged. "No harm in asking."       Tom snickered again and, without responding to his friend, began to look around the small hall they were in with a bored look.       There were many people gathered here today: familiar actors, famous directors, and important producers—everyone was interested in seeing this new screenwriter who had managed to impress the jaded cynics of their film world with a single script.       Amidst the quiet music, people were milling about, chatting about nothing in particular, eating appetizers, drinking wine, and simply enjoying the evening, eagerly awaiting the start of the presentation of the new breathtaking script.       When a petite brunette entered the room in a light black dress, no one paid attention. No one except Tom. When his bored gaze fell on the newly arrived girl, he was taken aback and stared at Christine with wide eyes.       "What's wrong?" Andrew asked, surprised, patting his friend on the back. Following Tom's gaze, he also noticed the brunette.       "Oh," he said, "it looks like Screenwriter Smith came. She looks even better in person than in the photos."       "Yeah," Tom croaked. "Except that's not Screenwriter Smith. I mean, it is her, but..."       Holland fell silent and nervously tugged at his shirt collar.       "What?" Garfield didn't understand. "What do you mean?"       "It's Christine. My first love."       "What?"       Garfield, astonished, shifted his gaze from Tom to the girl and back again.       "That's the same Christine?" Andrew asked in amazement. "The first love you still can't forget? The one you've compared all your other girlfriends to? The one you cry about every time you get drunk on my shoulder? The Christine whose smile used to make your heart somersault?"       "Yes," Tom sighed, and, rising from his seat, went straight toward the girl, not seeing or hearing anything or anyone else around him.       The world seemed to freeze, fade away, leaving only him and her.       Hastily, Holland swiftly took Christine by the elbow and promptly led her out of the room into the cool evening air, making sure no one else intercepted her.       "Tom?" Christine asked in surprise, as the guy took her by the elbow.       "Tom!" she exclaimed when he guided her into a small hallway. "What are you doing?!"       "Let go of me, Tom!" the girl repeated as soon as they were on the street.       "Sorry," exhaled Holland, releasing the girl's arm, and looked straight into her eyes. "Hello."       "Well, hello," Christine replied, furrowing her brow as she looked at the guy.       And when their eyes met, a wave of memories suddenly swept over both of them. Warm memories that made them both happy. They saw the summer they spent with friends at the camp by the shore of the azure lake, remembered all the warm and childishly innocent evenings they spent together, lying on Christine's sloping house roof, watching the sun set behind the horizon. They momentarily returned to the snowy winter when, laughing merrily and holding hands, they skated on the icy pond in the park. It was good then. Being together felt so calm and warm. Back then, innocent yet intense youthful love coursed through their veins.       The girl first looked away and lightly nibbled her lower lip to hold back a heavy sigh. Regret of the missed first love began to painfully resurface somewhere deep in her soul.       "How have you been?" Tom asked quietly.       "Good," Christine replied, timidly smiling. "At times, it was difficult, of course, but you know me, I overcame it all and now I've become a screenwriter. My very first screenplay caused a huge stir."       "I noticed," replied Holland, nodding and also smiling shyly.       "How about you? Are you doing well?"       "Yeah, I'm doing well."       An awkward silence hung between them for a second. It was so strange to encounter each other again after so much time, as each of them, though they had hoped for this meeting, never truly believed in it, in the idea that fate would bring them together again after everything.       "So, what is your screenplay about? What's the plot?" Tom broke the evening city silence. After that question, Christine's ears instantly turned red, and her cheeks flushed.       "W-well," she stammered, not knowing where to start.       Tom raised an eyebrow with interest,       "Why did you turn all red?"       "Oh, um," Christine nervously nibbled her lower lip again, "it just got awkward, that's all."       "Why?" Tom's questioning gaze of his brown eyes met the hesitant look of Christine's green eyes.       "Because the screenplay is about us," the girl finally blurted out in one breath. "It's a story about a boy and a girl and their first and last love."       "Wow," Holland exclaimed, whistling in surprise.       Somewhere in the distance, the sounds of the evening city could be heard: muffled voices of people who had just finished work and were now heading home, the screech of tires racing down the roads, cars, and, strangely enough, the twittering of urban birds sitting on power lines.       They stood in a small alley, unable to take their eyes off each other. They met again, feeling that despite the weight of time and maturity, their feelings for each other had not faded. But how to confess to this now? What to do?       "Only one thing," Christine said softly, interrupting the quiet chirping of urban birds and the sounds of the evening city. "I don't know how to end this story."       "What do you mean?" Holland asked hoarsely, feeling his heart beating faster.       "Everyone told them that first love is not forever," the girl shrugged, a glimmer of hope flickering in her green eyes. "They parted because of the prejudices of adults and their youthful foolishness, and now when they finally met, they don't know what to say to each other. I don't know what will happen to them in the end, how their story will end."       "Hmm," the boy said significantly, taking a step closer to Christine. "Then, maybe like this?” Taking Christine's face in his hands, Tom gently covered her lips with his in a tender kiss…