“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 her. And now that you have, you weren’t so sure what to say.

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

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

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

But there was more to it—she didn’t want to be that way. You saw it in the moments when she zoned out, lost in thought while others talked. She hated being the “bad girl,” but it was all she knew. Maybe she even convinced herself 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 her, you're not sure if this apology is for closure or just an attempt to regain control she 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,” she said, her 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?”