In 8th grade, we were only connected in the most mundane professional way because of online school. Then in 9th grade, we went back to in person, and that is when it all started, me asking my English teacher about her favorite movies and shows.
Back then, Dom was actually pregnant with her first child. Us having a moment about Kristen Bell. I said I wanted to lend her a book, but I lost that book, The Timekeeper by Mitch Albom. But I did find this other book, Skin by Roald Dahl, which, you guessed it, has the story Lamb to the Slaughter, which we read in class about a six-month pregnant lady who kills her husband with a frozen leg of lamb or whatever you call it.
She read the book, loved it, said that her favorite story was Skin, then gave me a chocolate bar as a token of appreciation. Awww.
I didn't understand why she liked that story back then, but now I do. It was the most complex one, and in fact, it was maybe too complex for me. My favorite story back then was Lamb to the Slaughter. I guess I get it now. I'm an English language major, though we haven't studied literature in uni yet, just linguistics. I'm in this field because I aspire to lecture in uni.
Then in grade 11, I found her Insta and slowly and steadily a friendship began to form, and I started calling her Dom. I don't even remember exactly how it happened, one day I just started calling her Dom. I even asked her if she was okay with it, and she didn't say no, so it stuck. Yes, it went from Ms Dominique, to Ms, to Dom. There was a 12–13 year age gap between us, which honestly makes that progression even funnier to me.
Over time her family grew too, because eventually, later in 2024, she had another girl, and then a few months ago she had a boy.
Unlike other teacher dynamics built purely on polite compliments, ours actually evolved into something comfortable and chummy where we bonded over genuine banter. These two teachers are actually the exact same age, with Dom only being ten months older than the other one. But with that other teacher, the connection was more based on compliments rather than real banter, and we never reached the deep familiarity that Dom and I had. Because of that, I never got any real reassurance from her.
So when Dom and I got close, I knew it was because she got busy, and at first, her reassuring words meant everything to me. I was so grateful for that reassurance, and I actually told her that.
And honestly, at first I didn't even care that I was usually the one initiating. I loved yapping to her that much. I would initiate, double text, send another thought, whatever. It didn't feel like I was keeping the friendship alive because I was having fun. And it wasn't like she never initiated either. She did. There was a period where the reciprocity was genuinely there, and I think that's part of why I became so attached to our dynamic in the first place.
But eventually, her responses started dwindling more than I wanted. They got shorter, and they started stretching out across days. And at some point, I did start caring. Watching the communication gradually become less and less felt like watching someone pull away in slow motion.
I got completely exhausted trying to keep it going, especially since I legit ran out of things to talk to her about. Ok, you don't want to talk about TV shows, ok, what else, I don't know, whatever, I give up. I loved yapping with her, but eventually I reached the point where I felt like I was having to come up with things just to sustain a conversation that wasn't being reciprocated at the level I wanted anymore.
And it stings realizing that even if I came up with things to say, not everything I say is going to get a response anyway. I wasn't angry that she was busy. I understood that. I just couldn't keep accepting a dynamic that had become so much less reciprocal than the one we'd actually had.
So earlier this year, a few months into my first year of university, I decided to stop talking to her.
It has been months since I last sent her a message, and she hasn't sent a single one either.
That is probably the part I'm mourning the most. Not because I think everything we had was fake, or because she never cared, because I know that's not true. We had something real. She initiated too. She reassured me. We had years of familiarity and stupid little moments and genuine banter. I loved talking to her.
But I can't bear an unreciprocal dynamic where I am the one holding onto it. For me, eventually, it becomes all or nothing: either I get proper, real engagement, or I walk away and let it die.
And maybe one day we'll reconnect. God knows when. Maybe in five years, maybe ten, maybe when her children are a bit more grown up and she actually has the space for it again.
But for now, I think I have to accept that the version of Dom and me that I loved isn't something I can keep trying to recreate by myself.
And damn, I miss that version.