We all went through the pandemic, especially we Gen Zs. Life felt mandatory, like we had no choice but to follow the rules and keep moving forward. But for me, those years became something more, and that is because of Him.

It started in high school, during online classes and “vacant times” at night. My friend invited me to play Among Us with her group. I was shy, especially on Discord, but then I heard his voice—deep, almost sleepy. I teased, “An old man?” That was the beginning.

After the game, he and I stayed behind, just talking, laughing, and making fun of people. Slowly, I realized I was feeling something I’d never felt before. He was kind, gentle, and whenever I was sad, he’d ask if he could call me, just to listen. He treated me better than anyone had before. He even admitted no girl had ever liked him. But I did. And when my friend told him, I found out he liked me too.

We never officially dated, but we shared something real. We teased each other, played truth or dare when boredom hit, and built worlds together in Minecraft while the rain fell outside. He noticed when I was upset, and he wouldn’t let me hide it. “I can’t just leave you alone all sad while I’m here having fun, you know. Please tell me…” he said once. I cried—not from sadness, but because he was so gentle.

He made Christmas lights glow brighter, sunsets feel sacred, and rainy days less heavy. Those times became stitched into my heart.

But then, we broke up. Life demanded I move on, yet I couldn’t stop crying. Every Christmas, every sunset, every rainy day reminded me of him. Forgetting felt impossible.

Now I’m in college, and life feels heavier than it did back then. Between the stress of career choices, endless assignments, and the toxic relationships I’ve stumbled into, I can’t help but reflect on why I lost the one person who treated me so well. I wish I could go back in time to relive those nights of laughter and warmth. My mind still remembers him, even when I try to focus on the future.

That boy made my pandemic years not just bearable, but memorable and nostalgic. He was the bright spot in a dark season, and though I carry the ache of losing him, I also carry the gift of having known him.

And maybe that’s the lesson I’m learning now: some people are meant to stay only for a season, but their presence can shape us forever. I may never forget him, but I can honor those memories by living fully in the present—finding joy in Christmas lights on my own, letting rainy days be cozy again, and watching sunsets with the hope that endings can be beautiful too.

Right now, I keep asking myself: do I still love him—the person he was—or is it the memories that hold me here? Because nostalgia hits differently than depression. Nostalgia makes me long for the warmth of Christmas lights, the sound of rain while we played games, the glow of sunsets he made unforgettable. Depression weighs me down, but nostalgia lifts me up, even as it hurts.

Maybe what I miss isn’t only him, but the version of myself I was when he was around—happier, lighter, seen. And yet, I can’t separate the two. He is the reason those memories exist, and those memories are the reason I still feel this ache.

So I wonder: is it love that lingers, or the longing for a time when life felt simpler, brighter, and more meaningful? Perhaps it’s both. Perhaps that’s why he will always remain a part of me, even as I move forward.