Unspoken

CHAPTER 1 : A Glimpse of forever

THIRD PERSON POV

The library was Y/n's sanctuary. Among the whispering bookshelves and the gentle rustle of turning pages, she could pretend the world wasn't so complicated. It was here, in this cocoon of quiet, that her feelings for Mikha had first taken root.

Mikha wasn't extraordinary in the way romantic movies portrayed love interests. There was no brooding intensity, no dramatic flair. Mikha was just...Mikha. Charismatic yet grounded, her presence seemed to command attention without trying. She had a quiet strength about her, the kind that made people feel safe, and a rare smile that lit up her entire face—when she chose to let it show.

And Y/n, well, she was the opposite. Quiet and unassuming, she was the type of person who would fade into the background of someone else's story. But in her heart, she had written countless chapters about Mikha—imagined conversations they'd never have, stolen glances she wished Mikha would return, and moments where the space between them didn't feel so impossibly wide.

They had first met during a shared literature class. Y/n had sat two rows behind Mikha, just close enough to hear the low timbre of her voice as she shared her thoughts on The Great Gatsby.

"I love how Gatsby never gave up on Daisy," Mikha had said during a class discussion.

"It's tragic, but also kind of beautiful. He held onto hope even when everything was against him."

After class, Y/n lingered by the door, summoning all her courage to speak. "Don't you think it's more sad than beautiful?" she had blurted out, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Gatsby wasn't in love with Daisy. He was in love with the idea of her. He didn't know who she was anymore."

Mikha had paused, her brow furrowing thoughtfully. "Maybe," she'd said, her lips curving into that rare smile. "Or maybe he saw something in her that she couldn't see in herself. Maybe love is about believing in someone's light, even when they don't."

That conversation had replayed in Y/n's  mind countless times. Mikha probably didn't even remember it, but for Y/n, it was the moment she realized how dangerous her feelings had become.

Mikha was the kind of person everyone noticed. She played on the university volleyball team, her name chanted by fans during every game. She wasn't loud or boastful; she didn't need to be. Her talent spoke for itself. And then there was Y/n, a student council member whose world revolved around schedules and events—always busy, always invisible.

Despite their differences, they had formed a casual friendship, born of proximity and shared classes. Mikha would nod in greeting when they passed each other in the halls, or stop by Y/n's  library table to borrow a pen or ask about an assignment. For Mikha, these interactions were fleeting and insignificant. But for Y/n, they were lifelines.

One afternoon, as Y/n sat in her usual spot by the library window, lost in thought, Mikha appeared out of nowhere, dropping into the seat across from her.

"Hey," Mikha said, sliding a book across the table. "Have you read this one? You're kind of the expert on good books around here."

Y/n blinked, caught off guard. Her heart raced as she glanced at the cover—All the Light We Cannot See. She had read it twice, but her voice faltered when she tried to reply. "Y-yeah," she finally managed. "It's beautiful. I think you'll like it."

Mikha smiled, her gaze lingering for a moment. "Thanks. I'll let you know what I think."

And just like that, she was gone, back to her world of roaring crowds and endless admirers. Y/n watched her leave, a bittersweet ache settling in her chest.

The hardest part wasn't that Mikha didn't feel the same. Y/n had long accepted that. What broke her was the way Mikha talked about her—about Jaz, the girl from the art department. Mikha's eyes lit up when she mentioned Jaz's laugh, the way she got paint on her nose while working on a mural, and the spark in her when she talked about her dreams.

"She's incredible," Mikha had said once, absentmindedly. "She sees the world differently, you know?"

Y/n had nodded, forcing a smile. She didn't hate Jaz. How could she? Jaz was all the things Y/n wasn't—bold, artistic, and captivating in a way that drew people in.

Mikha deserved someone like that, someone who could match her light.

But it didn't stop Y/n from wishing.

That night, Y/n sat in her dorm, staring at her phone. She had drafted a message to Mikha a dozen times, her fingers hovering over the send button.

You looked beautiful today.
Do you want to grab coffee sometime?
I like you. I've liked you for a long time.

Each time, she deleted the words. What was the point? Mikha's heart already belonged to someone else.

Instead, she typed a different message.

"Let me know what you think of the book."

The response came minutes later.

"I will. Thanks, Y/n."

Y/n smiled through her tears, clutching the phone to her chest. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

Unrequited love was a quiet kind of heartbreak. It didn't shatter loudly or leave visible scars. It lingered, soft and bittersweet, in the spaces between what could have been and what would never be.

As Y/n lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, she whispered a silent promise to herself: one day, she would find someone who loved her the way she loved Mikha.

But for now, she let herself dream of the impossible—just one more time.