What We're Afraid to Lose

Chapter One

The sun was dipping low, casting a warm, honeyed glow over the room, but I barely noticed it. All I could focus on was him—my best friend for the last twenty five years, sitting across from me, his face half in shadow. I can still feel the weight of the words he just said, heavy in the air between us, like a thick fog that I can't escape.

"I'm obsessed with you."

He said it so calmly like it was the most natural thing in the world. I could barely breathe, the confession twisting in my chest, threatening to suffocate me. I've imagined this moment more times than I can count, but now that it's happening, I don't know what to do.

I'm in love with him. I've been in love with him for years—maybe since the beginning before I even understood what love was. But I can't tell him that. Not now. Not when the risk of losing him feels like too much to bear.

I laugh. It's weak, forced, a poor attempt to mask the turmoil inside me. "Obsessed?" I manage to tease, though my voice doesn't sound like my own. "You've never mentioned that before."

He smiles back at me, but there's something different in his eyes. He's serious. Deadly serious. "I never had the guts to say it," he admits, his voice quieter now, as if afraid of what might happen if he speaks any louder.

For a second, I can't look at him. I can't handle the intensity of his gaze, the vulnerability there, so I drop my eyes to the flickering candle on the table, watching as the flame dances, fragile but steady. God, I wish I could be that steady right now.

He keeps talking, and I can barely process the words. "I didn't think you felt the same," he says, and my heart stutters in my chest. "I didn't think I could risk losing you."

Losing me. I'm not sure if he realizes how close he's hitting to the truth. For so long, I've buried my feelings because I couldn't stand the idea of ruining what we have. But hearing him say it—he's obsessed, but he didn't want to lose me—it breaks something inside me.

I want to tell him. I want to blurt it out right here, right now. That I'm obsessed with him, too. That I love him. Every moment we've spent together over these years has only made me fall deeper, even when I tried so damn hard to convince myself it was just friendship.

But I don't. I can't. I don't trust my voice, my heart, not to shatter everything we've built.

"I don't know what to say," I whisper instead, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. I don't know how to be honest, not when the truth feels so dangerous.

His hand moves across the table, his fingers brushing against mine, and that simple touch sends a shiver through me. How many times have we held hands, hugged, and touched in passing? It was always so casual. So safe. But now, the touch is something more. Something electric, and I can't breathe.

"Then don't say anything," he says softly, but his eyes are searching mine, looking for something—anything—that might give him a clue to what I'm feeling.

I don't know what to do. I don't know how to tell him that I'm terrified. I'm terrified of what I feel, of what this might mean, of what happens if we cross that line. Because once we do, there's no going back. And I don't know if I can lose him, even if it means losing a part of myself in the process.

So I nod. It's all I can do, because my throat is too tight, my heart too full, and the words I want to say are trapped inside me.

His hand lingers on mine for a second longer than it should, and I'm torn between wanting to pull away and wanting to hold on forever. I wonder if he can feel how fast my pulse is racing beneath my skin. I wonder if he knows that I'm dying inside, wishing I dared to say what I feel.