The Space Between Us

The first time I realized I loved him, I was fifteen and he was laughing in our kitchen.
My brother had brought him home again - like always.
He didn't look at me.
Not really.
He ruffled my hair and said,
"Still a kid, huh?"
I hated him for that.
Because I wasn't a kid.
Not when my heart skipped every time he walked into the room.
Not when I memorized the way he rolled up his sleeves.
Not when I stayed awake at night replaying the sound of his voice.
Years passed.
I grew taller. Quieter. Prettier.
But to him?
I was still just his best friend's little sister.
Until the day he saw another boy holding my hand.
And for the first time...
He stopped smiling.