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You know how most teen dramas promise heartbreak and butterflies and then serve you betrayal, love triangles, and characters who act like they are 35? Yeah, Forever on Netflix is not that show. It crept in quietly, without too flashy promos or fanfare, but it hit like an emotional gut-punch — in the gentlest, most healing way possible. And honestly? I wasn’t ready.
In just eight episodes, Forever managed to do something most shows fumble: It told a love story that "felt" real. It gave me softness, ache, vulnerability, and actual character depth. I don’t say this lightly — this show is the kind of warm, melancholic, emotionally intelligent series that lingers in your chest.
And if you are someone who thrives on quiet, layered storytelling with a killer soundtrack and characters who feel lived-in, you need to watch Forever. Like, yesterday.
Disclaimer: This article contains the writer's opinion. Readers’ discretion is advised.
Black love, tender and true
Keisha and Justin aren’t your typical teen couple. They are not made for Instagram. They are awkward. They text and delete, fight and make up, block and unblock. And somehow, their relationship feels like the kind of young love you remember with a dull ache — the one you wrote poems about, the one that made you feel seen for the first time.
Watching them fall for each other is like watching the sun rise in slow motion. It’s tender and frustrating and intimate in a way that made me want to scream into a pillow and then immediately rewatch the scene.
Their chemistry isn’t flashy — it’s 'soft.' And the show gives it time to breathe. There’s no rush to force drama. Just two people trying to figure each other out while carrying the weight of the world on their teenage shoulders.
It's Black, It's Beautiful, and It's Unapologetic
Can we talk about how rare it is to see Black teens in love on screen without it being trauma-first? Forever gives us Black joy. Black families. Black healing. It lets the characters be messy and full of contradictions without making them into tropes.
Justin’s dad, played by Wood Harris (who never misses, by the way), is the kind of Black father figure we need to see more of—quiet, supportive, and emotionally intelligent.
And Keisha? She’s not just “the strong Black girl.” She’s vulnerable, angry, soft, confused, and brilliant all at once. Her world isn’t perfect, and the show doesn’t pretend it is. But it also doesn’t reduce her to pain. There’s light here.
Justin feels like a first
There’s something about Justin that I haven’t stopped thinking about. He is quiet. Sensitive. Musically gifted. And maybe — just maybe — on the ADHD spectrum, though it’s never spelled out. The way he reacts to pressure, withdraws, and hyper-focuses on music, and his struggles with emotional expression… it all felt deeply, tenderly real.
Whether he is neurodivergent or not, Justin is a kind of male character we don’t often get, especially not in Black teen stories. He’s soft, scared, and doing his best. And the way he loves Keisha — gentle, full of awe, a little clumsy — is honestly so pure it made my heart hurt.
There’s drama, but it’s not loud
Yes, things happen in Forever. There is a s*xual assault subplot. There is family tension. There are secrets and emotional meltdowns, and misunderstandings. But the show never goes for shock. It lets the drama simmer. The impact comes not from what happens, but how the characters respond.
The show leans into silence. Long looks. Missed calls. Conversations that don’t quite go the way they should. And that restraint? It works. It makes the emotional moments hit harder because they feel earned. There is a kind of poetry to how Forever is shot — warm, golden, almost nostalgic, like you are remembering something instead of just watching it unfold.
The Forever soundtrack alone deserves an award
Listen. Whoever curated the music? Give them a raise. The Forever soundtrack is a full mood. Lo-fi beats. Soulful tracks. Soft instrumentals that carry the weight of every emotional scene. It’s the kind of playlist you keep on repeat long after the show ends, just to feel something again.
Lovie Simone ate. No crumbs.
Lovie Simone as Keisha? She embodied that role. She gave Keisha depth, softness, and rage in a way that felt so lived-in. Every expression. Every breakdown. Every eye-roll. You could feel the push-and-pull inside her, between who she wants to be and who the world expects her to be. And her chemistry with Michael Cooper Jr. (Justin) was just… chef’s kiss.
She made me root for her even when she made bad choices. She made me feel her walls going up and crashing down. She carried that show with so much grace and emotion, it’s honestly a crime if she doesn’t get more leading roles after this.
Forever didn’t scream for attention. It didn’t need to. It showcased a quiet story about love, grief, healing, and growing up — and it told it beautifully. I didn’t expect to fall for it the way I did. But by the end, I was crying real tears, clutching my phone, Googling whether we’re getting a second season (Netflix, I’m begging you — don’t let this be another I Am Not Okay With This situation).
This isn’t just a teen drama. It’s a mirror. It’s a balm. It’s the kind of show that sneaks up on you and sits with you long after the credits roll.
Watch it. Feel it. Share it. And then let's cry about it together.
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