There are things you wish for in life, impossible things. Even though you are sometimes painfully aware that they are unattainable, you still work out a 10-year plan in which to attain them. My impossible thing was getting Lydia Martin, the girl I have loved since the third grade, to fall in love with me. We basically grew up together, but I was not exactly on her radar, so to speak. People fall in love all the time though, right? They get to know each other, things change, feelings change. So, why was this match so impossible, you ask? There's a simple answer to that question. I, Mieczyslaw Stilinski (please, let's skip the part where I explain all about the origin of my Polish first name and how to pronounce it…just Google it, then go ahead and forget it if you like, because everyone calls me Stiles anyway) …Where was I? Oh yeah, it was impossible because I, Stiles, I'm…well…me, and Lydia is Perfection come to walk the earth, if for no other reason than to show the rest of us that yes, she really does exist.

Impossible is a word that seems to come up a great deal in my life. For example, it was impossible that I would drag my best friend, Scott McCall, out one night for an ill-advised excursion into the woods…to look for a dead body. (Yup, I know…I watched Stand by Me one too many times.) It was impossible that such a morose act of teenage rebellion would result in him being bitten by a werewolf. But I did…and Scott was…and he is a werewolf now. That is an impossibly long story. For another time… It was impossible that I would spend any time on the field during an actual lacrosse game – because according to Coach, I suck…but slightly less than Greenberg…which is apparently good enough to get me into a game…so I played…and on one very terrifying…and equally memorable night, I even scored the winning goal – in the championship game. My dad was there, and he was so proud. And Lydia was there, and when she smiled at me…the way she smiled at me…well, I have never been able to put into words what that felt like…other than to say it made me feel incredibly alive. It was impossible that Lydia would ever notice me. But she did, and in the middle of the life-altering, supernatural roller coaster of death and torment that we call our lives, Lydia and I got to really know each other, we became the best of friends, and amazingly enough, she fell as deeply for me as I did for her. So maybe impossible is a great deal more possible than most people anticipate, and maybe that's not always a bad thing.

Back to my Lydia. What makes her so perfect? Simply put – everything. Every. Single. Thing – and all the things put together to create the masterpiece that is Lydia Martin. But there is little I enjoy more than singing the praises of my girlfriend, my love, my partner in every sense of the word, so let me begin by telling you that Lydia is a force of nature. I kid you not, this woman can get angry quicker than anyone I have ever known, but she softens just as quickly with the people she loves. She's going to be sore that I started out by describing her temper, but in my defense, it's one of the many things I love about her – because it reflects her passion and it means she cares. Lydia cares a great deal…and if you are lucky enough to be one of the people she cares about, as I am, then there is nothing she won't do for you and no limits to her understanding and defense of you. Plus, that fiery passion of hers, is also what sparks her desire for a challenge. Maybe that's why she was willing to take me on, because I'm fully conscious that being with me is a challenge. I am stubborn, I talk too much, and I'm chronically anxious…at times to the point of hyper-vigilance. I can hardly sit still for more than a few minutes at a time. Honestly, I don't know how she puts up with me. There's the constant fidgeting, tapping, and pacing…except…somehow Lydia manages to still me. I told you she is amazing. For whatever the reason, she decided to trust me, Stiles, with her heart, and as a result, I am the luckiest and the most grateful you-know-what on the planet.

Lydia is something. This is a girl with a special affinity for her Papillon, named Prada (yes, like the designer handbags), the music of a British artist, named Gabrielle Aplin, flowers of all kinds (especially lilacs), and the color she chose for her bedroom walls…which I call purple, but she insists is called boysenberry. This is a girl who eats raisins with a fork and meticulously peels the wrapper from a peanut butter cup like it is an art form. She can pull her hair into one of those topknots without the use of a mirror and have it look perfect every single time. She's also super creative; she designed her bedroom, she paints, and she sketches. This is a girl who, on a nightly basis, methodically selects her clothing for the next day from a closet-full of floral printed dresses, sweaters, and high heeled boots. (It doesn't matter what she wears though, she looks perfect in everything.) Then, if necessity calls for it, you might find her running through the woods in that same outfit…without missing a step…unless it happens to trigger an animal trap. (Long story with a happy ending.) But all of this…it barely scratches the surface of who Lydia truly is.

Beyond all that, Lydia is a walking, talking, breathing contradiction – and I love her for it. She is petite, but her presence can subdue an entire room full of people. She has a short-stride, but always manages to stay two steps ahead of me. She is highly opinionated, but incomprehensibly open-minded. She has limited patience with herself, but unlimited amounts when it comes to weaving her hair into some intricately designed braid…and a stockpile more patience left on reserve for me. She has a selfish streak when it comes to my attention (you'll get no complaints from me on this front), but she is completely selfless when it comes to giving me everything she has. She is incredibly strong and though she hates to admit it, incredibly vulnerable too. This is a girl who drips with self-confidence when it comes to her intelligence or her fashion sense, but in regard to expressing her feelings or accepting love, well…then she is suddenly shy and unassuming. It pains her to ask for help, but she gives help willingly…no matter what it costs her. She hates for people to see her cry (except for me…and I'm glad for that because it means she trusts me, and damn, she's even beautiful when she cries), but she always offers the people she loves a shoulder to lean on. She can freeze me into stillness with a stare or melt me with a smile. The power of her voice is unmatched. This is a girl who can softly sing me to sleep when I have nightmares, but who can obliterate steel doors…and the occasional Ghost Rider with the strength of that same voice. Lydia also has a supernatural ability to make one of your worst moments simultaneously one of the best. Like maybe by turning a panic attack into an impossible dream come true…for example. Outside this room she is one of the bravest people I've ever seen, but in the quiet of this room, when it's just us, she hesitantly but just as bravely reveals fears I didn't know were possible. She is clever and witty, yet as a general rule, her reserved nature typically only permits silent laughter. I may be the only person who can get an unrestrained, genuine laugh out of her, and I don't take that lightly. Oh…and there is no possible way I'm sharing any of my methods with anyone…ever. That is strictly between us.

Did I mention that she's a genius? Seriously, the woman is brilliant! She can calculate ridiculous sums in her head in the time it takes most people to re-read the equation. She can read and speak at least eight languages (besides English), including French, Spanish, Italian, Polish, Greek, Hebrew, Hindi, oh yeah…and archaic Latin for good measure. Oh, and by the way, she's currently studying Gaelic in her free time. She considers her molecular biology and advanced physics textbooks to be light reading. On top of that, she can remember pretty much everything she has ever read, which is a extremely useful skill to be in possession of…you know…in case you need to know to mix a Molotov cocktail – because you are locked inside your high school, in the middle of the night…with a homicidal Alpha werewolf.

I'd be remiss if I didn't at least attempt to explain how remarkable Lydia is, physically. Lydia is beautiful…no, she's gorgeous…better yet, she's breathtaking. The kind of beauty that people write songs about. I'm talking about talented musicians, not anyone like me. Nope, I definitely don't have an entire notebook filled with love songs I've been writing about her since the third grade. Crap, if she reads this, I'm done for because she will find that notebook…unless I destroy the evidence first. (Don't worry, Lydia. I'm just kidding. I would never do that to you.) Actually, I hope she does read this someday because its easier for me to express how I feel about her in writing. When I look at her – look into eyes that can basically dissolve the insides right out of me – it can be difficult to speak. In her presence, getting my brain to communicate with both my vocal chords and my mouth to form coherent sentences is a challenge. The thoughts that so naturally flow in my mind, get tangled up…and what comes out usually pales in comparison to how I really feel. Back to my point. The point being that Lydia is breathtakingly beautiful, stunning, gorgeous…you know…all the words. Picture a petite, porcelain-skinned goddess with full pouty lips. (For the love of god! Those lips!) Lips that can stop (or start) a panic attack. Trust me, I know from experience. Her green eyes are the most perfect shade ever created, all flecked with gold and shaded with thousands of long lashes. I've counted them, there are literally thousands of them. Her skin is flawless, and her sweet little nose is sprinkled with freckles. The sides of her perfect mouth are framed with two insanely adorable dimples, which I get to see more than most. (I am so freaking lucky…and grateful. Did I mention grateful?) Then there's her hair. The only way to describe it is: strawberry-blonde perfection. It's waist length, and impossibly soft and smooth. No matter what she does to it, her hair always looks beautiful, but my absolute favorite is when she leaves it down, cascading all around her…softly curled ends I can wrap around my fingertips…the rest of it blowing in the breeze like strands of copper silk. (That was rather poetic of me…I think I'll hang onto that one, store it for later use.) I could run my hands through Lydia's hair all day long and surprisingly enough, I think she would let me. It seems to relax her in a way not often seen – the same way I relax when she touches my face or puts her hand over my heart. It's pretty amazing to have that kind of effect on each other. I could go on about her looks, but I think I've proved my case and honestly, the rest of the things I love about her appearance are between us.

Earlier, I mentioned that I have loved my Lydia since we were in the third grade. I remind her of this often, not because I want to make her feel badly for being behind the curve (for once in her life), but because I need her to know that I can hardly remember a time when I was not in love with her. If you are a skeptic, like me, then your eyes probably rolled the minute they passed over the words "the third grade". How can an eight-year-old boy know he has found the love of his life? Well, it's the truth. I'm not sure how I knew, but I do know when I knew. I can pinpoint the exact moment. The moment when, by some twist of fate, Lydia gifted me with one of the best moments of my life, during one of the worst times I can remember – because she has the ability to always know exactly what I need to hear…and when I need to hear it.

It was my first day back to school after my mom died. For two weeks before that day, and several months before that, while my mom was suffering the most, I was fumbling around in the dark; a bundle of anxiety and dread, a kid who dreaded tomorrow…because tomorrow could be the day mom leaves. When she died, people who cared about me tried to comfort me, but the fact of the matter is that their words rang hollow. Your mom will always be with you, they said. I didn't believe them. They were my family, my friends. They were obligated to say things like that. Mom was still gone, and she wasn't coming back. So, it was my first day back to school, and I was alone on the playground that afternoon, waiting for Scott to get out of detention. Scott. My best friend, who got detention for falling asleep in class and for not having his homework…because he spent the previous night trying to help me gather the nerve to show up, to start my "new normal" – the part of my life I was going to have to live without my mom. As I sat there with a cloud of sadness lingering over my head, poking at the ground with a broken twig, missing my mom, and feeling guilty about Scott, an angelic eight-year-old Lydia caught my eye for what had to be the millionth time. It was to be expected – she was the smartest and prettiest girl I had ever known, and I really liked looking at her. What I didn't expect was that she would return my gaze and make her way over to me. What was happening? This was not the natural order. I thought that she must be headed towards someone behind me. I looked back. There was no one there. I didn't even have time to wipe the tears from my eyes before she stopped in front of me. Beautiful and direct as ever, she spoke to me: I'm sorry you're sad. I know you miss your mom...and that everything is different now...and it's not fair. But she was special, and she's a part of you, and that will never change. In truth, what Lydia said wasn't all that different from what other people had been telling me. But there was something in the way she said it that made me believe it. I heard those words andmiraculously, the sun came out again. My heart skipped beats, my throat went dry, and I barely managed to squeak out a thank you before she turned and walked away, taking the sunshine along with her. So, this is what it's like to love a girl, I realized. I knew – that day, that moment – I would never feel the same about anyone else, and I made up my mind that I was going to be there for her, if ever she needed someone. Even then, Lydia was pretty independent, so it didn't often appear that she needed or wanted help from anyone…least of all me. But sometimes, when she thought no one was looking at her, I would catch a glimpse of sadness in her eyes. The kind that made my stomach hurt. I wanted to make that go away, and I was wiling to do anything to be for her what she was (and still is) for me. I had no clue how to get her attention…but girls liked boys who treated them nicely… Right? And maybe I wouldn't always be awkward (still waiting for that change to take place). So maybe, if I was as kind to Lydia as she had been to me that day, she would see what she meant to me. Then maybe, just maybe, she might come to love me. I knew it wouldn't happen overnight. She was too special, too perfect for it to be easy. But no matter how long it took, I knew she would be worth it. Lydia gave me something to hope for again, and for years, the mere thought of this simple exchange has brought me a peace like no other.

Nearly eight years came and went, and with each one it seemed more impossible that Lydia was going to fall for me. After sophomore year, I reevaluated my 10-year plan. It might take 15 years...but the plan was definitely still in motion. Yup, much more realistic. Took loads of self-inflicted pressure off my back. The good news was that by then, Lydia and I were friends. Not one-sided, all-in-my-head, Stiles-get-a-grip-all-she-said-was-hello friends. Real friends. We were, give each-other-a-ride-to-school, study-together, free-period-together, texting (not sexting…get your mind out of the gutter), talk-about-our-troubles (and we had plenty of those to go around) friends. I could speak to her without making a complete fool of myself, a solid 90…okay 80…alright 70 percent of the time. I stopped tripping over my own two feet every time she looked at me. I even felt comfortable enough to direct frustration at her when she was being impossible – she is adorable when she is being impossible, but still extremely irritating.

By junior year, things changed even more. Gradually (maybe so much that I didn't notice it was happening) Lydia's feelings for me were changing. How do I know? Well, there is the obvious, she told me so, but…that came later. Before she told me, there were moments when I thought she might be falling for me and others when I was as sure of it as my love for her. It was a subtle shift, something in the way she spoke to me, or looked at me, or touched me. Something that expressed the fact that I was as important to her as she was to me. For the most part, I convinced myself that I was mistaken, that I wanted it to be true too badly for my own good. But deep down, there was this glimmer of hope that just would not let go of the possibility of us. The same hope she handed me that day on the playground. The same one that crept back in, during times I least expected it.

Lydia hasn't had it easy. She has lost a lot of people she loved, and she's been treated badly by some of those same people. It's made it difficult for her to trust her own judgement and even more difficult for her to open up. There were times I would see her begin to let her guard down…usually when it was just the two of us. Almost immediately though, she would freeze up as if she caught herself doing something wrong, and all of her defenses would be built back up even stronger than they were before. I wanted to be a safe place for her, did everything I could think of to show her it was okay to let me in – that I would never intentionally hurt her. Sometimes it made her push further away and other times it drew her closer. To anyone else, it would appear like she was purposely sending me mixed signals. But I know Lydia, and she has a pure heart; she would never do that. The push and pull had become a habit for her – and if anyone understands how difficult it can be to break a habit…it's me. So, I tried to pay more attention, listened harder, remembered as much as possible. And then it hit me – while I was waiting for her to say the words, she was showing me, in the best way she was able and in ways I didn't anticipate – Lydia was showing me that she loved me. Because for as much as I know about her, I didn't always know this: Lydia's love has a quiet voice. But if you really look at her, you will see it clear as day. That brings me to the next part of the story, the five times Lydia showed me she loved me without ever uttering the words.