When I was 16 I had my first boyfriend.
He lived in the neighbourhood and saw me one day when I mowed the lawn of our garden. (My father regretted later that he made me mow the lawn. Are all fathers jealous?) My bf in spe greeted me and we started talking to each other. And the next day we met again and talked to each other and soon we were friends and he became my bf. Our love was great. Every day after school we met and enjoyed the time together.
I had to be at home for dinner every day. In our family it was the holy custom to eat together at exactly 6 o'clock (I cannot remember an exception). After dinner we watched TV together. This was the evening ritual. I wanted to go to my room as soon as possible. I expected my bf. When it was dark he came to our house again. We wanted to spend another hour together. He threw little stones at my window, to let me know when he was back. I opened the window and we could be together for a while. I don't know how I managed it to finish school, but I finished it. I was always tired in the morning. My room was in the first floor (US 2nd floor). I looked down to him how he was standing in the garden and he looked up to me looking out of the window.
He: I love you.
Me: I love you, too.
After a while.
Me: Do you still love me?
He: Yes, I love you.
Me: How much do you love me?
He: Very much.
Me: Is this true?
He: Yes, this is true.
Me: I love you, too. Very much.
There was not much variation in our conversation. Years later I promised myself never ever to ask a man anymore if he loved me. I couldn't keep this promise. Sometimes I cannot trust my own ears, sometimes it just slips out of my mouth and then I hear myself saying:
Do you like me? :)