Not to Be Dramatic, But 'Forever' Was a Healing Experience

For once, a coming-of-age story that actually sees Black teens as full, complicated people, and not just plot devices.

From the moment I saw the Forever trailer, something felt special—not just in a “this is so adorable” way, but more like lightning in a bottle. For me, teen coming-of-age shows always seemed like they didn’t reflect my experiences, often felt forced and out of touch. Still, as soon as I turned the show on, I kicked my feet and giggled with delight. It took me back to the days of those butterflies you get as a teen when you meet someone. The show follows Keisha Clark (played by Lovie Simone) and Justin Edwards (played by Michael Cooper Jr.), two childhood friends who reconnect and maneuver coming of age and love. The eight-episode series challenges the question: Could your first love be forever?

The fun part about this show was that it was set in 2018, and though I’m a little older than Keisha and Justin (I was already in college by then), it still felt so close to home. I knew the courtship process and the emotional rollercoaster of playing cat and mouse at a young age. What got me the most were the scary parallels I felt when watching, specifically when it comes to being young, vulnerable and putting your heart on the line as you deal with problems that feel like do or die at the time.

Mini spoiler alert: One of the main hurdles Justin and Keisha face is getting Keisha to tell her mother about a sex tape that was released throughout her old school, causing her to go into a depression and transfer schools without telling her mother the reasoning behind it. Now, even if you’re still playing catch up with your binge, I’m sure for the chronically online, you’ve seen all types of discussions and discourse about the characters and their stories. Recently, Keisha's actions have taken center stage in the week's discourse regarding her ongoing conflict with Justin, her lack of communication with her mother, and more. Currently, we’re in a space where rage bait and discourse thrive to gain engagement, but whether people like it or not, these characters are more necessary than ever.

In a digital age marked by discussions of gender war, incel culture, and a lack of empathy, we need to return to realistic storytelling about everyday life, particularly for Black teens. As I watched the show twice (third time loading), it almost felt cathartic to watch an accurate representation of that transition of growing into adulthood while in a relationship. For those who experienced their first love at a young age, you often hear adults say how important it is to focus on yourself, and at that moment, it feels like people are just trying to sabotage your relationship.

But what Forever captures so well, and I wish I could’ve fully understood back then, is that love in your teens isn't just about romance. It's about identity, self-worth and learning to advocate for ourselves, even when unsure of what we need. Watching Keisha and Justin navigate love while trying to heal and protect themselves and grow reminded me of the times I chose silence over confrontation or closeness over clarity because I feared losing someone and myself.

The truth is teen relationships are probably the hardest things to maneuver in your life because as you’re trying to grow and find yourself, you think about where your partner fits into this, and that’s when things get scary. While most teen dramas skim the surface of that confusion, they rarely sit in the discomfort long enough to show how it feels. That’s where Forever sets itself apart.

What makes the show so affecting isn’t just the love story but how it highlights the whole perspective of Black teens without sensationalizing or sanitizing their pain. Watching Keisha deal with guilt, love and fear was like witnessing a mirror being held up to all the moments I didn’t have language for when I was her age. The shame that lingers after a traumatic experience, the desire to protect your parents, the silence that feels safer than saying what you need, it’s all there, layered with compassion and honesty.

So many teen shows reduce adolescence to melodrama or moral lessons, but Forever lets it breathe and be messy. It shows how young people carry an emotional weight that doesn’t disappear when the credits roll. And as much as it’s a love story, it’s just as much about learning how to speak up, recover and come home to yourself as you enter adulthood.

In a media landscape that often flattens Black youth into caricatures or backdrops, this show reminds us that they deserve space to be soft, to make mistakes and to heal out loud. I didn’t have a Forever when I was younger, but watching it now feels like a gift to the version of me who needed it most. For anyone who’s ever loved too hard, stayed too quiet or tried to grow around their wounds, this story doesn’t just reflect the past. It affirms that we were always worthy of being seen.