For nine straight years, I've shared a classroom with him. In elementary school, he was the quiet kid, the one who blended into the background. I barely paid attention to him back then; my world was filled with other friendships and distractions. But everything changed when we entered middle school. Suddenly, he emerged from his shell, and I started to notice him more.
By high school, our paths crossed in a way that felt serendipitous. We ended up in the same class, and things became infinitely more fun. We laughed together, shared secrets, and supported each other through everything. I found myself rooting for him every time he dipped his toes into new relationships, cheering him on like a loyal fan.
Somewhere along the way, I discovered a strange passion: taking pictures of him. Whether he was cracking a joke, focused on a task, or just being himself, I snapped away, posting those moments on social media without a second thought. I enjoyed capturing his essence, but I didn't realize how much I cherished those memories until much later.
Now, as I approached my final year of high school, something shifted. A few months before graduation, I caught myself staring at him during class, lost in thoughts that made my heart race. It was ridiculous, I told myself. I couldn't possibly have fallen for him after all these years. Yet, as the days passed, the feelings only intensified, and I had to admit—I was wrong to think I could ignore them.
It is illegal to catch feelings for a person you've been friends with for almost a decade.
ツ
Days turned into weeks, and despite my best efforts to create some distance, he kept sticking his nose in my business.
"Are you okay?" he would ask, concern etched on his face. It made me want to scream. Why couldn't he just leave me alone?
All of our classmates thought he liked me. Personally, I hated that. It felt like he was playing with my heart, even if he didn't know it. Every time he smiled at me, my stomach would twist into knots, a confusing mix of affection and frustration.
He's a gentleman, I'll give him that. He never made fun of my insecurities. When the others joked about my awkwardness, he'd stand there, unyielding, a silent shield. He'd shoot them a look that could silence a room, and it made my heart flutter despite my efforts to ignore it.
But there's a fine line between friendship and something more, and I didn't want to cross it. It felt risky, like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing one misstep could lead to a fall. So I tried to convince myself that I didn't feel anything more than friendship. That we were just two people navigating the chaos of high school together.
Yet, each time he reached for my hand to guide me through a crowd, or when he laughed at my jokes even when no one else did, it became harder to ignore the warmth spreading in my chest. How could I have developed feelings for someone who was supposed to be my safe space?
I wished I could rewind the years and reset the friendship before it got complicated. But there was no going back. Instead, I found myself caught in a tug-of-war between my heart and my head, each day feeling like a battle I wasn't sure I could win.
"Let's hang out this weekend," he said, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. I hesitated, knowing that spending more time together would only blur the lines further. But I nodded, the word "sure" slipping past my lips.
