My First Crush & Most Embarrassing Moment #MemorableInstances-2

There hasn’t been a single phase in my life that hasn’t felt like a roller-coaster ride—thrilling, adventurous, with tears of joy and bursts of drama. I’ve never needed to chase excitement, because life, in all its unexpectedness, always seems to serve it on a silver platter.

Let me explain it this way—anyone who has even a basic idea about cooking will know what a safe dish is. You know the ingredients, the steps, the result. But just when my life begins to resemble that dependable recipe, the Almighty mischievously sprinkles some extra, intense spices—turning it either into something divinely delicious or a flaming disaster that feels like swallowing a fireball.

This blog is about one such “spicy” phase—teenagehood, which for many is the most exciting part of life: crushes, infatuations, heartbreaks. Mine had all of it—or at least most.

Back then, I wasn’t a particularly attractive teen. I was slim, fair, and medium-heighted, but had problematic skin. My face was often red and irritated with eruptions in certain areas. Even when there weren’t pimples, the soreness was hard to hide. It chipped away at my confidence more than I’d care to admit.

At 17, I had my first real crush (or infatuation—still not sure which!). It took me all those years to feel my first heart skip.

Christopher Lewis.
I met him at church. Light eyes, mature vibe, wicked sense of humour, humble—he ticked all the boxes. We lived in the same neighbourhood, so I’d sometimes bump into him. I still remember how I’d plan my church visits around the hope of catching just one glimpse. And on the rare occasion when we exchanged more than just a “Hi,” I’d replay that tiny interaction in my mind all week—over and over again.

At the time, I called it “love at first sight.”
From striking out F-L-A-M-E-S letters to reading Linda Goodman’s star sign compatibility book—yeah, I did it all.
Like Aamir Khan says in 3 Idiots, when you’re in love, everything just feels better—birds chirp louder, the moon shines brighter, the flowers bloom bigger. That was me.

And now comes the most embarrassing moment of my life—a tale I’ve long dreaded sharing but am finally mustering up the courage to pen down.

It was Christmas. Our church youth group was hosting a party. But honestly, I wasn’t as excited about the event as I was about finally meeting Christopher again. He was studying computer engineering in Aurangabad and was back in Mumbai for the holidays.

That day, I looked—and felt—my best. My skin, for once, was clear and glowing. I wore a shiny black velvet mini skirt and a white, full-sleeved lace top. Convincing my conservative parents to let me out in a mini skirt was a task and a half, and they only agreed when I promised to wear stockings.

The party was lively. I wasn’t. My eyes were fixated on the entrance. I refused to join my friends on the dance floor. And then—my heartbeat did its familiar flutter. Christopher walked in. White shirt, red tie, black pants. “Our telepathy is real!” my teenage heart whispered.

He sat three tables away. I could see him from the corner of my eye. It was the slow dance round. Most people were already swaying on the dance floor. I sat, nervously munching on starters when…

"Hi Sharon!"

I almost jumped out of my chair.

Gulping down my food, hiding my glee, I turned around.
“Hey, hi Christopher! You in Mumbai? That’s a surprise!”
(Mental note: Stop talking in one breath!)

“I arrived this morning. Spending Christmas with the fam,” he smiled.

“That’s nice.”

He looked around and said,
“Well, guess we’re the only ones not dancing. Would you like to join me for a slow dance?”

My heart began chanting “Oh my God! Oh my God!” but outwardly, I gave my most confident smile:
“Sure, my pleasure.”

But before we could step onto the dance floor, the music stopped. The DJ announced it was time for spot prizes.

Disappointed, I sighed. But to my joy, Christopher pulled up a chair and sat beside me. I blushed. I glowed. I floated.

They began calling out for things like “the girl with the most colours,” “the guy with the longest belt,” and so on. And then, the MC announced the final prize:

“Any girl wearing socks!”

I was too busy basking in my Christopher moment, lost in a pink bubble. The MC repeated himself:
“Any girl in this crowd wearing socks?”

Now here’s where things went spectacularly downhill.

In my dreamy daze, I misheard it. Instead of “socks,” I thought I heard “shorts.”

I turned to Christopher with pride and glee and said,
“Oh! It ought to be my lucky day. Guess what? My skirt has attached shorts!”

Christopher looked baffled. But before he could react, I had already slipped off my heels and darted across the dance floor to the MC on stage—ready to claim my prize!

I stood there, smiling confidently—completely barefoot—announcing,
“I’m wearing them!”

The MC looked confused. The crowd was silent. Then someone helpfully shouted from the audience:
“Excuse me, what you’re wearing are stockings, not socks.”

I froze.

The MC clarified, “Sorry, I said socks. Stockings don’t count.”

And just like that, it hit me.

A flush of heat rushed up my face. I could hear laughter behind me—or maybe I imagined it. My feet wouldn’t move. I had rooted myself to the stage in sheer disbelief.

Finally, I turned and walked back—what felt like the longest walk of my life. I wanted the earth to open up. I wanted to be an ant. Or an invisible bacteria. Anything but this.

As I neared my seat, I caught a glimpse of Christopher—grinning wide, probably trying hard not to laugh.

My heart? Shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.
And so ended my first “crush phase” of many

- Sharon Lasrado