The Words I Never Said

There are moments in life that come and go quietly, yet leave echoes that never fade. You were one of those moments for me. A soft, beautiful chapter I never got to finish.

We met in college—two strangers connected by group projects and awkward smiles. Over time, our conversations grew longer, our laughter louder. I don’t know when exactly it happened, but I started waiting for your messages. I memorized the way you laughed at your own jokes and how your voice softened when you talked about your dreams.

You called me your best friend. And every time you did, my heart cracked just a little more.

I was there through it all—your heartbreaks, your anxiety before job interviews, the family problems you never talked about with anyone else. You trusted me with your secrets, and I gave you my silence in return. Because how do you tell someone you love them when you're afraid it might destroy everything?

I remember one night—we were sitting on your balcony, the world quiet around us. You looked at the sky and said, "I don’t think anyone will ever love me the way I want to be loved." And God, I wanted to scream, I do. I already do. But I didn’t. I just nodded, smiled, and carried your pain like it was my own.

You fell in love with someone else. I watched you get swept off your feet while I stayed in the background, clapping for you with a broken heart. You cried to me when he left. I comforted you while drowning in the ache of my own silence.

I had my chances—plenty. Moments when you looked at me a little too long. When you rested your head on my shoulder and said, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I should’ve told you then. But I was a coward. A silent admirer afraid to lose the only version of you I had.

Now, you're gone. Not in the tragic sense, but in the slow, inevitable way people drift apart. Different cities. Different lives. I still follow you on social media. Still pause when I see your smile. Still wonder if you ever felt it too—if deep down, you ever knew.

Sometimes, I write messages to you and delete them. I type, “I loved you,” and backspace it before I even hit send. Because what’s the point now? We’re strangers again—with history only I remember in full color.

But this—these words—are my truth. You’ll probably never read them. You’ll never know how often I replayed our memories or how deeply I loved you in the quiet.

You weren’t just a chapter. You were the story I never had the courage to write.

If you're reading this, and something in your heart stirs… maybe, just maybe, you felt it too. Even if only for a second.

And maybe that’s enough.