Welcome to Your Last Race (Street Racers #3)

EXTRA - How did you fall in love?

How did you fall in love with Yeeun?

I'm falling in love with her every day. Falling in love isn't a point in life, and I'm not an expert of it, because I have done this only once. But if I were to say where it all started, I think it started when she held my hand for the first time. Right after we met.

We were four. I didn't understand what love was, then. Except for the colorful kid movies, I didn't have an example in my life to show me what it means to love another person like that. I was learning as I went. In hindsight, I can tell the first time I met Yeeun was the moment falling in love with her became inevitable.

It was very soft at first, innocent and easy. She looked like a princess, not only when she put on that plastic tiara. Sometimes her dad curled the ends of her long black hair, and I couldn't take my eyes off of it when it bounced around. Her eyes disappeared when she laughed, and for a long time all I did was learn how to make her laugh. She was the prettiest thing I've seen in my life. Many times, I thought about kissing her round cheeks, but usually I'd chicken out.

There was this one time, though. We were six. The best of friends, no one could come between us. Everywhere we walked, we held hands. If there was a choice, we always chose each other. Yeeun's dad took us to the mall one day. He insisted on buying her shoes, she insisted on dresses, and because her dad would do everything for her, we ended up on a pink couch, watching Yeeun try on dresses.

"I think she really is a princess," I told her dad at some point. I have maybe five memories from my childhood, but I remember everything about my life with Yeeun, and I remember how he smiled at me then. I think Yeeun's dad knew I loved her before I figured out what it meant.

The feeling was breezy, then, so when Yeeun's dad bought us ice cream and left to buy her shoes, I did it. I kissed her cheek. It was burning against my cold lips, and it made me feel even warmer. She giggled, and said she liked it, and I've never felt better before.

Things changed after that. I sought out any kind of physical contact. Hand holding wasn't enough. I needed hugs, I needed to sit glued to her, I needed her trying to braid my hair, I needed us falling asleep on the couch, leaning against each other. When I didn't feel her next to me, the time was painfully slow.

For a while, it was all about me. How I felt with her. Even if I wanted her to laugh more, it was because it made me feel happy. When we were eight, it started becoming more about her. I wanted her to feel happy. To feel safe. To feel like an actual princess. To be able to be whoever she wanted to be around me. To do whatever she wanted. To give her whatever she wanted. Ironically, working on it made me even happier.

Making her feel safe became somewhat of a priority when we were eight. It was the first time I got in a fight, and the first time I got in a fight for her. Because for the first time I saw her cry because of someone. When a bunch of older boys disrespected her, and I couldn't do anything but watch her cry, was when it all started. When I lost every bit of tolerance for Yeeun getting hurt, and every bit of mercy for people who hurt her.

We grew up together. We were there for each other, whatever the other was going through. Easy and difficult. A cold, I was there. Tooth falling out, I was there. Not wanting to go to school, I was there. Trying out a new style, I was there.

Middle school was a rollercoaster, but one stable thing was our friendship. Because I still didn't really understand love, I thought we're just really good friends. Best of friends. We did everything together. Separation, even for an afternoon, was painful. If she had to go somewhere with her dad, she would call me the moment they sat in the car. If I had to be with my uncle, we were non-stop texting. By the time we were fifteen, since we were four, we have never been apart. Except for a few dentist appointments, trips out of town and some random days, every single day we spent together.