For six years, my life had a quiet rhythm that pulsed only when I caught a glimpse of you across the courtyard or in the fleeting moments between classes. You never knew it, but your presence turned ordinary hallways into enchanted paths, and simple...
I’d always admired him from afar, my crush sitting just a few seats away in class, completely unaware of the quiet emotions I held inside. We never spoke, never shared more than an occasional accidental glance, but that didn’t stop my heart from racing whenever he walked by or offered a smile to his friends. He was kind and funny, and I liked him for all the little things he probably never thought twice about. But as much as I wished for it, we were nothing more than classmates.
Then, one day, everything changed.
I noticed her another girl from our class laughing with him in the class. They stood close, closer than most friends usually did, her hand lightly brushing his arm, his eyes crinkling in laughter as he looked at her. She seemed so comfortable around him, like she belonged by his side, and I felt a pang in my chest that I couldn’t ignore.
As the days went by, I saw them together more often. In class, at lunch, in the corridors they were always near each other, sharing smiles, laughing at private jokes, their shoulders touching as they walked side by side. Each time I saw them together, a small part of me ached. It wasn’t anger; it was something softer, something more vulnerable. Jealousy, yes, but also a kind of sadness, as though I was watching my own little dreams slip away.
I wanted to be happy for him. I told myself it didn’t matter, that my feelings were just a passing crush. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the hurt that bloomed each time I saw them together. She was everything I wasn’t confident, bold, effortlessly charming. She could talk to him, make him laugh, make him smile, while I sat on the sidelines, invisible, holding onto silent feelings I could never express.
One day, as I sat alone in the library class, trying to focus on my reading, they walked in together. I watched them from behind my book, pretending to read, but really, my heart was breaking just a little more. She whispered something to him, and he chuckled, nudging her playfully. It was like watching a scene from a movie, and for a moment, I wished I could rewrite the story.
As they passed by my table, he glanced in my direction. For a brief second, his eyes met mine, and I quickly looked away, my cheeks burning. It was a small, fleeting moment, and I knew it didn’t mean anything. But in that glance, I wondered if he’d ever noticed me, even just a little.
That night, lying in bed, I thought about all the "what ifs" that haunted me. What if I had the courage to talk to him? What if, somehow, he could see me the way I saw him? But I knew these were just fantasies, built on hopes I wasn’t brave enough to chase.
Over the next few weeks, I focused on moving forward. I studied harder, spent more time with my friends, and tried to remind myself that my worth didn’t depend on one person’s attention. Slowly, I started to feel a little lighter, a little stronger, as I accepted the reality of things. Maybe he was never meant to be part of my story, and that was okay.
But I held onto one small hope: that someday, I’d find someone who would look at me the way he looked at her. And until then, I’d keep building my own story, one step at a time
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