There’s a strange kind of ache that comes when you fall for someone who may never see you the same way. Not the dramatic kind you see in movies, but the quiet kind — the one that simmers underneath the surface, only visible in the stolen glances, the lingering silences, and the thousand thoughts you never say aloud.
I see her every day. Not by chance, not deliberately either — it’s just how our lives currently cross. She’s warm, kind, laughs easily, and talks to everyone. Including me. But somehow, when she talks to others, I feel something tighten inside. Not jealousy exactly, just… displacement. Like I’m watching a version of her that isn’t mine to claim.
And maybe that’s the hardest part. Knowing she isn’t mine, maybe never will be. She calls me a friend — and maybe that’s all she really thinks of me. She’s never said or done anything to give me hope. But still, there’s something in the way she listens when I speak, in the way her eyes sometimes pause on mine a little longer than they should. Or maybe I imagine it all. Maybe the mind makes stories when the heart is desperate to be heard.
There’s this constant tug-of-war inside. I know — deep down — that we may never be meant to be together. Our lives are moving in different directions, timelines that will soon stop overlapping. She might not even realize when that shift happens. But I will. I’ll remember how she looked that day, what she wore, the way her hair fell across her face, the sound of her voice when she asked me about my day.
And yet, I keep showing up. I keep hoping for something I don’t fully understand. I know I shouldn’t — that the more I feel, the harder it’ll be when all of this fades away. But some part of me still leans in, still listens more closely, still waits for her message, still smiles when she smiles.
Some days, I tell myself I should stop caring. That I should pull back, detach, preserve myself. But then she walks into the room, and everything I rehearsed disappears. My eyes find her automatically. I notice the tiniest changes. A new ring, a different perfume, a shift in her mood. She doesn’t know that someone is noticing her like this. Maybe no one ever will — not in this exact way.
That’s what makes it both beautiful and heartbreaking. This unspoken connection that may or may not exist. A story that might only live inside me.
People talk about closure as if it’s always an event — a final conversation, a clear ending. But sometimes, closure is just a slow fading. A quiet acceptance that some stories don’t get written the way we want them to. That some people are only chapters, not endings.
And even though I know we might not be meant to be — even though I know she may never feel what I feel — I won’t pretend it didn’t mean something. Because it did. It still does.
And maybe that’s enough.
Or maybe it never will be.
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