“Look, we got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry.”

That was years ago. Did it still bother you? Maybe. You’d forgotten about it—until now.

“I messed up. I really did. I’m sorry for the crap I caused.”

The words you never thought you’d hear from him. And now that you have, you weren’t so sure what to say.

It was years ago. He was different. You were different. You’d moved on. It shouldn’t matter anymore… right?

It started in high school. He was the stereotypical “bad boy”—fights, skipping school, ditching class. You, the quiet one, kept to yourself. But somehow, his attention found you. It started with cruel comments, small pranks—little jabs to make him feel bigger. Over time, it escalated: name-calling, pushing, snide remarks. It wasn’t classic bullying, but a constant ache that wore you down.

He didn’t target just anyone. You were his only focus. Your quietness, your seriousness, the way you never fought back made you an easy mark. To him, it was a game—a way to feel powerful when everything else in his life was out of control. His father wasn’t around, his mother was either busy or drunk. You, on the other hand, had stability. He hated you for it—hated you for being so normal.

But there was more to it—he didn’t want to be that way. You saw it in the moments when he zoned out, lost in thought while others talked. He hated being the “bad boy,” but it was all he knew. Maybe he even convinced himself that pushing everyone away made life easier.

Then things changed. You grew up, moved away, became stronger, more confident. The tables turned in ways neither of you expected. Now, face-to-face with him, you're not sure if this apology is for closure or just an attempt to regain control he lost years ago.

“You know, I thought I could bury it. But I’ve been covering up stuff I couldn’t fix in myself. Maybe that’s why I messed things up with you,” he said, his voice gruff but awkward, just like you remembered.

“It’s going to take more than this to fix things. But… maybe we can start over?”