Less Than a Lover

"I think I'm in love with Jenny."

I read the message again. Tom had been telling me stories about his closest female co-worker for the past few weeks. She's smart, funny, and plenty attractive. They finished each other's sentences, shared dirty jokes, and worked well as a team.

Tom identifies as bisexual, but throughout our friendship, he had only been involved with men. I never imagined him getting into a relationship with a woman.

I felt my heart sink.

I've been with him through his ups and downs. I defended him against bullies who outed him in college. I stood by him when he broke up with his boyfriend, who cheated on him with a girl. I comforted him when he felt defeated at work and cheered for his achievements.

"Why not me?" I asked the void, feeling my eyes sting.

I remembered the first time I met Tom. Like a moth drawn to a flame, I was instantly captivated by him. He had an air of maturity-he knew what he wanted and how to get it. He held himself to a standard I could never reach.

He was the complete opposite of me, drifting through life, settling for mediocrity.

Despite our differences, we became the best of friends. We spent hours talking about the most mundane things, then seamlessly shifted to deeper topics. We shared everything: our fears, shames, secrets, and fantasies.
But there was one secret I couldn't share with him-I was hopelessly in love with him.

I didn't fully understand what it meant to be a bisexual man, but I tried my best to understand him. I endured the pain of hearing about his relationships and still wished him happiness. Even when he broke up with his boyfriend and was single for a while, I never imagined us becoming more than friends.

My phone vibrated.

I knew it was Tom, but I couldn't face him-not now, when my mind was a mess. I couldn't pretend to care and ask him about the woman he was in love with.

"Sorry. Early day tomorrow. Good night," I replied without reading his message.

I pulled the blanket over me and hugged my knees. I longed for the escape of sleep, but the pain in my heart was too much to bear.

Ugly thoughts kept me awake: Why not me? Why didn't he choose me? Am I not enough? Will I always just be a friend to him? Why can't he love me the way I love him?

Tom was the best thing that ever happened in my life. He inspired me to be better, to believe I could achieve more. He made me happier than anyone else.

But now, he was also the source of the greatest sorrow I had ever felt.

The next day, I avoided my phone. I didn't want to see any messages from Tom, especially if they were about his newfound love.

I tried to keep busy, hoping to distract myself from my emotions. I'm his best friend; I should be happy for him. But who was I kidding?

If I told him how I felt, what good would it do? I loved him more than a friend and had been content keeping that to myself. But his feelings for a girl changed everything. He could love a woman-he just never saw me as an option.

"Hi Stella," Tom texted me that night, just like he always did.

"Hey."

"What's up?"

"Nothing much."

"You slept early last night. Are you okay?"

I paused. Should I brush this off, or should I tell him everything? Without overthinking, I typed my response.

"I'm not okay because I'm in love with you."

Tom didn't reply for a while. I imagined him staring at the screen, his brows furrowed, wondering how to respond to his best friend's sudden confession. I sent another message.

"I've loved you since college. Even now, being apart, I still love you. Always have, always will. I'm sorry for confessing through text, but I couldn't hide my feelings any longer."

Still no response.

"When you told me you love her, it hurt. You fell in love with another girl when I was always by your side. I felt inadequate, like I wasn't good enough for you. I know I sound selfish, but why can't you choose me?"

My fingers shook as I pressed send. A cold feeling crept over me as I re-read my message. What if confessing was a huge mistake? What if I ruined our friendship? The realization hit me hard.

Ding.

After what felt like an eternity, I clutched my phone, summoning what little courage I had left to read Tom's response.

"Stella. I'm sorry," the first line read. None of this was his fault, yet he was apologizing, even though I was the one hurting.

I continued reading. "I love you too. I hope you know that. But the love I have for you is different. You're my best friend. I'm sorry I hurt you."

I was silent for a moment. I had expected this response. Tom was always gentle with me, just as I had always been careful not to hurt him.

But what did I want from him, really? I read his message again and again, wanting to remember every word.

"I love you too," I repeated to myself.

Maybe that was all I wanted-the reassurance that, in his own way, he loved me too.

It took a long time for me to muster the strength to reply.

"Thank you for loving me as a friend. It's just that I've loved you for so long, and now there's someone who can love you better than I can. It's embarrassing, but I thought I'd be the only girl in your life. Now, there's someone else who might take my place."

"Stella, you are irreplaceable in my life. You'll always have a special place in my heart, no matter who else comes into it."

Tears streamed down my face. I loved Tom so much, but I knew our love would never be romantic. I had to accept that and learn to be content. I cherished him too deeply to imagine my life without him.

"Thank you for being a good friend. I'll be okay, but please let me grieve my feelings."

"Okay. Just know I'm always here for you, no matter what," he replied.

"Thanks for understanding. Good night," I sent before putting my phone away.

I pulled out my book, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Teens, which had been gathering dust on my shelf. As I opened it to the bookmarked page, a photograph fell out. It was a picture of Tom from high school-the version of him I never knew. He had given it to me when we graduated from college because I had begged him.

I smiled, imagining what he would look like ten, twenty, or even fifty years from now. I liked to think we'd grow old together, staying friends, no matter how much time passed.

Yeah, I could live with that.