A scrunchie sits on top of my desk, a little to the side, and a little in the back. Originally, more brilliantly golden. Now, a more mature, gently weathered glow of ecru. Its neighbors, pens and notebooks often sit there untouched, for many weeks. The scrunchie exists differently; it’s a valuable memento I choose to keep. It holds the memory of when I learned, at last, to speak. 

People usually expect keepsakes from past relationships to hurt. Yet when I see it, if anything, I’m reminded of what I’ve gained from her, the confidence that allows me to be more open with others. 

It pulls me back to that once upon a time. Not our first meeting, but definitely the most memorable. 

It's a lovely early evening in spring, the winds and weather both being as kind as can be, and the outside didn’t call for any specific type of dress; it wasn’t cold nor warm, with or without layers. 

After a month of talking and texting and seeing each other casually, we decided for a typical date at the pier, a pleasant riverside escape. I got there first and anxiously awaited, as it was our first proper date. Do I look good? I hope we have fun… 

I stood at a corner, repeatedly folding the letter in my hand, as if the creation of more creases had any correlation to my thoughts rattling less inside my head. A few minutes seemed much longer than on any other day. 

I was greeted with a bright smile, and I returned the favor, unsure of what to expect. Though we’d already held hands once before, my breathing soon quickened and I felt a thrill through the corner of my chest. As she offered her hand and I accepted with mine, I wondered if she could feel my heart race. 

With my other, I held onto a handwritten letter, wrapped in a cute envelope, tied to it with a pink ribbon. Attached, an even cuter and pinker little keychain, with a squishmallow on the end. Fluffy. 

I was pretty embarrassed by it, but I eventually gathered the courage to retrieve my writing from behind me, and then quickly tugged at her hand. 

I hope you don’t mind, I thought I’d bring something special for you, after all, its been a month, after all. That’s something worth remembering, right?

I internally rehearsed as we walked. 

“Hey… so, I actually brought a couple things for you,” I managed, “by the way.” The words tumbled out too fast, then too slow. 

“You’re nervous, aren’t you,” she said, teasingly. 

I admitted, “... yeah, aren’t you?”. 

Then not so smoothly continued, “Well, anyways. I thought a month feels like something worth celebrating,” and I pulled out the small assortment of items from behind me, the pink ribbon trembling in my hands. 

Her eyes widened, as if I had offered something extravagant, but maybe then, it was. For a second, she seemed to think what the appropriate response would be, and then tilted her head, smiling. 

Her reply? She let go of my hand, turned to say, “For me?”, scooped up the letter and the plushie, then paused again, examining the two as if they might reveal a secret that was embedded in them. 

“You’re pretty thoughtful, you know,” she said at last. “Sometimes I think that you say a lot, and sometimes I think you don’t show enough of yourself.” 

That made me giggle, a quick nervous burst. At the time, I could only come up with, “So, then… Do you want me to talk more or less? And- ” 

“More,” she said, almost instantly, then giggled at her own boldness. “Well, I’d like more of you. But also more words, if they’re about you. I am interested… obviously.” 

“... Only if you promise the same back,” I muttered. 

“I thought that was a given!” she replied. 

“And well, seeing as you came up with these little gifts… I think I should give you something of my own!”, she declared, looking down at her wrist. From the myriad of little adornments stationed there, she pulled off a pale-gold scrunchie. 

She pressed it into my hands when I hesitated, and looked directly into my eyes. “You don’t have to hide behind all those words... Just talk to me, alright? Anyone would be a fool to not want the real you.” 

Later, when we said our goodbyes,

For once, I didn’t rehearse. “Okay,” I said, surprising myself. “I was kind of terrified… earlier. But I’m so glad I came anyway.” 

That night, with a silly scrunchie on my wrist, and her laughter echoing through my mind, I understood that growth doesn’t solely come from dramatic gestures, like in movies. Sometimes it’s as small as daring to speak honestly to someone willing to listen.