What Does Love Feel Like? | ENGLOT one shots

Best Friends 2

Part two of Best Friends (as requested)

——————-xx—————-xx———————-

Engfa's POV:

The rain had long stopped, leaving behind a damp, lingering chill that seemed to seep into my bones. It mirrored the emptiness I felt inside, a hollowness that had been growing ever since Charlotte walked away that night.

It had been two years. Two years since I watched her walk away, the downpour mirroring the storm in my heart. Two years of pretending everything was okay, of convincing myself that Pichy was the missing piece I'd been searching for.

But even with Pichy's dazzling smile and infectious laughter, the echo of Charlotte's quiet warmth haunted every corner of my life. The way her hand fit perfectly in mine, the comfort in her silence, the spark of understanding in her eyes – none of it could be replicated.

Pichy was a summer storm, vibrant and passionate, leaving me breathless with her energy. But Charlotte, she was the moonlit calm, the steady tide that pulled me back to shore, the haven I craved after every tempestuous adventure.

Pichy, of course, was still wonderful. Her laughter was like sunshine, her presence a warm embrace. But lately, it felt like I was looking at her through a blurry lens, my mind constantly drifting back to Charlotte's gentle smile, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed.

I tried to ignore it, to bury myself in work, in Pichy's company. But the more I tried, the louder the echo of Charlotte's words became. "I love you, Engfa," they whispered in the quiet moments, a melody that haunted my dreams and filled the silence with a yearning I couldn't explain.

Had I been blind? Oblivious to the way her eyes lingered on me, the way her touch lingered a beat too long? Or was I just scared, so terrified of losing the friendship we had that I built walls around my own heart, walls I couldn't even dismantle for myself?

I sank into the worn leather sofa, the whisper of Pichy's floral perfume clinging to the leather. I pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling as I scrolled through old pictures of Charlotte and I.

There we were, two carefree girls, giggling on a beach, our arms linked, our faces bathed in the golden glow of sunset. And there, backstage at a concert, her head resting on my shoulder, a sleepy smile playing on her lips.

With a sigh, I shut down the phone, the silence in the room amplifying the clamor in my soul.

Memories, like thorns, pricked at my heart. The way she used to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, the way her laughter crinkled the corners of her eyes, the way she held my gaze, a silent conversation spoken in the depths of her irises.

My phone buzzed, I stared at the screen, the pixelated image of Pichy's radiant face a stark contrast to the emptiness gnawing at me.

"Hi baby, wanna come over and have a movie night with me?"

Her message sat open on my phone, a taunting reminder of everything I thought I wanted. A giggly night in, watching movies and ordering greasy food, her head resting on my shoulder like a comfortable anchor.

Yet, my fingers itched to type a response, to tell her I couldn't make it. My stomach churned, a hollowness spreading from my chest to my limbs. This wasn't the first time. This wasn't the first time the mere thought of spending an evening with Pichy, the girl I'd pursued with such passionate certainty, left me feeling empty.

The truth, the one I'd kept buried beneath layers of denial, was as sharp and raw as the ache in my heart. I don't love Pichy. Not like how I love Charlotte.