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In love, I don't think twice. Once my heart flutters and I picture myself with that person—doing everything, sharing everything—I just go for it. No hesitation, no overanalyzing.
This is my story, the tale of the girls I've loved... or should I say, the girls I've dated? Yeah, that feels more honest. I'm Milk, and everyone always thought I'd be the perfect catch: the girl who smiles at dorky jokes, criticizes just because I can, and dives headfirst into whatever feels right.
Every girl I've dated, I can compare to the four seasons. Don't get me wrong, I'm not some playgirl; it just... happens. Life's too short not to chase those feelings.
First was “P’Miw”—that's Ciize, my spring. She was bright and refreshing, like a burst of sunlight after a long rain. Being with her felt like lying in a green field, surrounded by wildflowers and crisp air that filled your lungs with hope. She always smiled, even at my silliest antics, and made everything feel light and new.
But spring came with her checklists. She'd fuss over every detail, making sure I was okay—maybe too okay.
"Why didn't you call me last night? I've been waiting by the phone," she pouted one evening, her eyes wide with that mix of worry and expectation that made my chest tighten.
"Why didn't you eat on time? Don't you know you could ruin your health?" she'd whine, shoving a homemade lunch into my hands like it was a lifeline.
"Why didn't you turn in your papers on time? That's a deduction on your grade!" she'd snap, pulling out a stack of documents from her bag, her voice sharp but laced with care.
It was refreshing at first, like the first warm breeze of the year. But seasons change, and they wither.
I left spring behind, feeling a pang of guilt as the flowers faded. Was I the one causing the wilt? The thought gnawed at me, making me question if I was just a fleeting storm in her sunny world.
It was time to move on.
After spring, I stumbled into summer—Namtan. She was passionate about everything, always buzzing with energy, awake even at midnight.
"Milk, let's party tonight!" she'd exclaim, her eyes sparkling like fireworks, dragging me into dance floors and late-night adventures.
I liked her, sure. She seemed to like me back. But every day blurred into the same thrill—endless fun, like eating tiramisu for lunch over and over. Sweet at first, but exhausting. The excitement wore thin, leaving me craving something deeper, something that didn't burn out.
One rainy afternoon, I couldn't take it anymore. “Namtan, I don't think we can work this out,” I said, my voice steady but my heart pounding. She looked at me, slipping on her sunglasses even though the sky was gray and overcast.
What could I expect from summer? Drama in the daylight.
"I'm sorry," I added, but she just stood, flipped her hair, and walked away without a word. I watched her go, wondering if I was becoming a heartbreaker. The sting lingered, a reminder that my impulsiveness could hurt others.
Was I selfish for chasing thrills? The doubt settled in, cold and unwelcome.
Recovering from summer's heat, I met fall—Tu. She was calm and composed, her life a meticulously planned calendar. Dreams for after university, career goals, even the age she wanted to marry—everything mapped out like a well-tended orchard. "What are your plans?" she'd ask almost daily, her tone gentle but probing.
It made me feel small, like I needed reading glasses and a study desk just to keep up. She was years younger than me, yet her path was so clear it shamed my own wandering one. She was kind, naive even, with her world revolving around her like the sun in a solar system—everyone else just planets orbiting in her shadow, including me.
Despite that, our relationship flowed smoothly. She comforted me when I stumbled, picking me up like fallen leaves from a tree. I compared myself to those leaves, drifting in her steady breeze. It was fun being with her, but her ambitions pulled us apart. We grew distant, love fading like autumn colors.
Still, Tu was my lovely fall, a bittersweet memory that left me wondering if I'd ever find someone who orbited around us, not just her.
Then came winter—Film. She was cold at first, chic and elusive, pushing me away while I chased her. But I'm Milk; I don't sweat the chase. Winter's cold? No problem. Beneath that facade, she was a heater in the wild, thawing the frost in my heart.
One night, I shared a wild story: "And then I jumped out of the railings!" I laughed, reliving the thrill. But she didn't smile. Her silence hit like a blizzard.
"Hey, what's wrong, Film?" I asked, worry knotting my stomach as I reached for her hand. She pulled away, and my heart skipped—painful, like ice cracking.
"Sorry, Milk..." Her voice was soft, final.
I knew.
The cold seeped in, but I nodded and smiled, hiding the ache.
Winter was my heartbreak, shattering my icy heart. Love's cruel that way—it brings happiness, loneliness, and pain. I complain, but what can I do? It's part of the deal. Yet, in that moment, I felt the weight of my choices: had I pushed too hard, melted her defenses only to leave her frozen again?
Now, here I am with her—the girl who defies seasons. Long red hair cascading like fire, shorter than me but towering in spirit. Her smile's perfect, warm yet savage when she needs to be. We're sitting in a cozy café, sharing vanilla ice cream, and I can't stop thinking about her.
"Hey, what are you thinking about?" she asks, her eyes curious, spoon paused mid-air. She leans in slightly, her free hand brushing mine on the table, a casual touch that sends a spark through me.
"I'm thinking what season you could be, Love," I reply, smiling as I watch her, my fingers intertwining with hers in a gentle squeeze.
"What? Am I going to be like your past exes, compared to seasons? Milk, there are only four seasons, and I won't share one with them," she chuckles, her laughter light and melodic, like a melody I've been waiting to hear. She scoops a bit of ice cream onto her spoon and holds it out to me playfully. "Here, try this—it's sweeter than your cheesy lines."
I laugh softly, leaning forward to take the bite, our eyes locking as the cool sweetness melts on my tongue. "Cheesy? You love my lines," I tease, wiping a stray drop from her chin with my thumb, lingering just a second longer than necessary. Her cheeks flush, and she doesn't pull away. "Sure, you can't be the same as them," I added.
She nods as she savors the sweetness, her gaze softening. She sets down her spoon and traces lazy circles on the back of my hand with her fingertip, a silent affirmation that makes my heart swell.
I stay quiet for a moment, a smile creeping onto my lips. I reach across the table and hold her hand more firmly, pulling it closer to my chest. She's looking at me attentively, her eyes sparkling with that familiar warmth.
"Hmm?" she murmurs, tilting her head, her red hair falling like a curtain over one shoulder.
"I know what you are," I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper, as I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles gently.
"You're my everyday," I finish, watching her expression shift from playful to tender, a quiet understanding passing between us.
She's not spring's bloom, summer's fire, fall's calm, or winter's chill. She's my everyday—the one who helps me become a better version of myself. With her, I can be Milk, flaws and all, without fear. She accepts me, reminds me of it constantly, pulling me through the chaos of my past seasons.
I can't just imagine things with her; I see a future—tomorrow, next month, forever. She's my everything, the anchor after spring's freshness, summer's exhaustion, fall's distance, and winter's heartbreak. As I hold her hand tighter, feeling the warmth that no season could replicate, I realize: love isn't about chasing storms or waiting for thaw. It's about finding the steady rhythm in the everyday, the one that makes every day feel like a new beginning. And with her, I finally know what it means to stay.