I never thought my first kiss would happen like that—unexpected, awkward, and yet, somehow perfect.
It was a late summer evening, the kind where the sky turned pink and gold, and the air smelled like warm grass. We were sitting on the swings at the park, just the two of us. Noah had been my best friend since we were kids, but lately, something had changed. The way he looked at me lingered a little longer, and I felt butterflies when he laughed.
We talked about everything and nothing—school, favorite songs, dreams of leaving our small town. Then, there was a pause. A charged silence. He looked at me, his green eyes uncertain but hopeful.
“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Me neither,” I whispered, my heart pounding.
Then, it just happened. He leaned in, and so did I. Our lips met in a soft, hesitant kiss, warm and a little clumsy. My mind went blank except for the realization: This is it. My first kiss.
When we pulled away, we both laughed—nervous, exhilarated.
“That was… nice,” he said, smiling.
“Yeah,” I agreed, feeling my face heat up.
The sun dipped below the horizon, and the world felt different, like something had shifted between us. Maybe it had.
And I didn’t mind one bit.