Pages of a One-Sided Heart

one

I still remember his smile. The way it stretched across his face, lighting up his features with a warmth that seemed to come from within. He was tall, towering over most in our class, his skin a shade brighter than most, almost glowing in the sunlight. I often found myself lost in the way his smile would reach his eyes, those bright, expressive eyes that always seemed to be looking elsewhere, never at me.

Each time I saw him, I couldn't help but wish that he'd look at me the way I looked at him—when he thought I wasn’t watching. But that moment never came. We were just classmates, after all. Not too close, not too far. We knew each other’s names, exchanged words now and then, but there was always a distance. A distance I was too afraid to cross, and perhaps he was too indifferent to bridge.

I wondered, in the quiet moments between classes or when our eyes would meet briefly before sliding away, what he thought of me. Did he see me as just another face in the crowd? A mere acquaintance? Or did he, even for a fleeting moment, consider what it might be like if we were something more? The questions lingered, unanswered, as I penned these words, each stroke of the pen heavy with the weight of feelings never spoken.