I was 16 when I had my first boyfriend. We were everything you’d expect of a first relationship: awkward, bumbling, young. I’d known him for years. I cared about him deeply. When we broke up only a month later, I had a whole list of reasons to justify myself, reasons I wholeheartedly believed. “I wasn’t ready for a relationship.” “I was going through a tough time.” “Our life goals just didn’t align.” I couldn’t bring myself to say the truth. One week into the relationship, every cell in my body itched to leave it behind. Now, three years later, I know why. I am aromantic. I don’t think I have fallen or ever will fall in love. Frankly, I don’t really think about falling in love at all.