THE LETTER SHE NEVER SENT-1

Dear You,

I don't know why I'm writing this.

Actually, that's a lie.

I know exactly why.

There are some things I have wanted to say to you for a long time, but somehow, every time I get close to saying them, I find a reason not to.

Maybe I'm scared of what you'll say.

Maybe I'm scared you won't say anything at all.

Or maybe I'm just too proud to let you know how much space you've taken up in my head.

It's strange, isn't it?

How one person can become important without either of you deciding that they should.

It wasn't supposed to happen with you.

You were just someone I knew.

Someone I could talk to.

Someone I could laugh with.

Someone who occasionally made me wonder why my heart suddenly seemed to forget how to behave normally.

I remember the little things.

That's the annoying part.

Not some grand declaration. Not some dramatic moment where everything suddenly changed.

Just little things.

The way you looked at me sometimes.

The way you could make an ordinary conversation feel like it meant more than it probably did.

The moments when you came a little closer.

The times you held my hand and somehow made me forget what I was supposed to be thinking about.

I remember wondering if those moments meant something to you too.

And I remember immediately telling myself they didn't.

Because it was safer that way.

If I convinced myself that everything was nothing, then I couldn't embarrass myself by believing it was something.

So I never asked.

I never said anything.

I just kept collecting moments.

And perhaps that was where the trouble began.

Because the more moments I collected, the harder it became to convince myself that you were just another person.

Then we left school.

And I thought distance would fix everything.

I thought maybe, without seeing you as often, without having those little moments, without wondering what your smile meant or why your hand stayed in mine a little longer than necessary, whatever this was would simply disappear.

It didn't.

If anything, I noticed your absence more.

I missed you.

There. I've written it.

I missed you. And I hated that I did.

Not because there was anything wrong with missing you.

But because I didn't know if you missed me too.

Sometimes you'd talk to me and I'd spend far too much time thinking about the conversation afterward.

Sometimes you'd disappear into your own world, and I'd tell myself you were busy.Sometimes I'd wonder if I should message you.

Then I'd decide I wouldn't.Because what if I cared more?What if I was the only one waiting?

What if all those moments I'd carefully stored away meant something completely different to you?

So I became very good at pretending. Pretending I didn't notice. Pretending I wasn't waiting.

Pretending I didn't smile when your name appeared on my phone. Pretending I didn't miss you. Pretending I didn't like you.

But there was one thing I could never quite pretend away.

The question.

What if you liked me too? Maybe you did. Maybe you didn't. Maybe I had spent all this time standing somewhere between hope and embarrassment, afraid to move in either direction.

And perhaps that's why I'm writing this letter. Because on paper, I don't have to pretend. I can say everything.

I can admit that sometimes I wanted you to choose me without ever having to ask you to. I can admit that I wanted consistency.

I can admit that I wanted to know what we were.I can admit that there were moments when I wished you'd just say something;anything, that would make all the guessing stop.

And maybe, if I were brave enough, I would tell you everything.Maybe I'd finally say the three words I've been avoiding.

Maybe I'd finally...

My phone vibrated.

Your name was on the screen.

I stared at it for longer than I should have.

Then another message came in.

“Can I tell you something?”

My heart stopped. For the first time, I wondered if maybe—

Maybe you were finally going to say it first. I opened the chat.

And began to type.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you too…”