The crisp autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves and the promise of colder days to come. I walked beside Suzume, our footsteps synchronized on the leaf-strewn path in Ueno Park, the fiery hues of autumn painting the trees around us in vibrant shades of crimson and gold.
The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of emotions. Since the karaoke night, my feelings for Suzume had blossomed into something both exhilarating and terrifying. The once comforting rhythm of our friendship now thrummed with an unspoken tension, a current of longing that crackled in the air between us.
Every shared glance, every accidental touch, every whispered joke felt charged with a significance that both drew me closer and filled me with an almost paralyzing fear. The fear of ruining everything we'd built, of shattering the delicate equilibrium of our friendship with the weight of my unspoken feelings.
We reached a clearing, the centerpiece a majestic gingko tree, its leaves transformed into a shower of golden coins, carpeting the ground around us. Suzume, ever the artist, pulled out her phone, snapping pictures of the breathtaking scene.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she murmured, her voice barely audible above the gentle rustling of leaves.
"Yes," I whispered, my gaze lingering on her profile, the way the sunlight filtering through the branches painted her features in shades of gold and amber. "Beautiful."
But the word, like so many others I'd uttered in her presence, felt woefully inadequate.
I longed to tell her how I felt, to confess the torrent of emotions that swelled within me whenever she was near. But the words, always so easily accessible in the solitude of my room, my thoughts flowing freely onto the pages of my diary, seemed to lodge in my throat, trapped behind a wall of fear and self-doubt.
What if she didn't feel the same? What if my confession shattered the fragile beauty of our friendship, leaving us both with nothing but awkward silences and unspoken regrets?
As if sensing the turmoil within me, Suzume turned towards me, her brow furrowed with concern.
"Aditya, is something wrong?" she asked, her voice soft, her eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat.
I hesitated, my carefully constructed facade of composure crumbling under the weight of her gaze.
"I... I just..." I stammered, my carefully rehearsed words dissolving into a jumble of incoherent syllables.
She tilted her head, her expression softening with understanding. "It's okay," she said gently. "You can tell me anything, even racial jokes are fine, like if you joke about hiroshima I can joke about Scamers"
Her words, spoken with such unwavering sincerity, broke through the dam of my carefully constructed defenses.
And so, I told her.
Not everything, not the full extent of the emotions that threatened to consume me. But enough.
I told her about the poems I wrote, about a person in my life who could chase away the darkest clouds in my mind
And as I spoke, her gaze never wavered, her eyes reflecting a kaleidoscope of emotions that mirrored my own – confusion, concern, and a flicker of something else, something that sent a surge of hope coursing through me.
"Aditya," she finally said, her voice barely a whisper, when I finally ran out of words, my voice hoarse with emotion.
But before she could continue, the shrill ringing of her phone shattered the fragile intimacy of the moment.
She fumbled for her phone, her cheeks flushed as she glanced at the caller ID. "It's Kenji," she said, her voice apologetic. "He's probably wondering where we are."
Kenji. The name, usually a source of amusement, now sent a pang of something unfamiliar and unwelcome through me.
"Of course," I mumbled, my heart sinking as the moment, the perfect moment, slipped away like grains of sand through my fingers.
As she answered the call, her voice regaining its usual cheerful cadence, I retreated back into the safety of my own silence, my heart a battlefield of conflicting emotions – relief that I'd managed to articulate even a fraction of what I felt, despair that the moment had passed, and a growing sense of unease that I couldn't quite shake.
We walked back to the main path , the vibrant beauty of the autumn leaves suddenly muted, the air thick with unspoken words and a growing sense of foreboding.
That night, as I sat at my desk, the city lights blurring through my window, my hand trembled as I wrote in my diary, the words pouring out of me like a torrent released:
November 15th
Today, I tried to tell Suzume how I feel. But the words, so carefully chosen, so painstakingly arranged in my mind, betrayed me at the crucial moment. I spoke in riddles, a symphony of metaphors and half-truths, my voice a mere echo of the silent melody that reverberates through my soul. She was silent for a bit, maybe on a thought that even the geekiest person has a crush. Will she ever hear the true song of my heart? Or am I destined to forever remain lost in translation?
YOU ARE READING
The Secrete I've Held for 1 and a Half Year Part-1
RomanceAbout a Introvered Computer Science Geek boy who has axienty, and scared of speaking to women, who went to japan for his studies and developed fellings for a girl and how it took turns.
