I Fell in Love with My Best Friend’s Husband — And He Loved Me Back

“Do you ever feel like… you’re with the wrong person?” Arman asked, his eyes fixed on the dark sea beyond the cabin window.

I froze. My wine glass hovered halfway to my lips, my heartbeat echoing louder than the crashing waves outside.

“You shouldn’t say that, Arman,” I whispered. “Not to me.”

“Why not you, Maya?” His voice cracked. “You’re the only one who sees me.”

That was the moment it stopped being innocent.

It had started months earlier—harmless, or so I told myself. Glances that lingered a second too long. Inside jokes whispered across crowded rooms. Shared smiles that felt warmer than they should have. Alina, my best friend, used to laugh and say, “You two are ridiculous.”

She trusted me. Completely.

We’d been best friends since college—more like sisters than friends. I helped her plan every detail of her dream wedding. I stood beside her as her maid of honor, smiling through tears as she married the man she loved.

Back then, I believed in their love story. I cheered for it with all my heart.

But then… I got to know him.

Arman was thoughtful. Steady. He noticed things others didn’t—like when I changed my hairstyle, or when I quietly left a room during loud conversations. Alina was the opposite—brilliant and bold, loud and fearless. They were a whirlwind. A storm. I admired their chaos. Until I realized I felt more calm standing beside him than I ever had on my own.

It was during their anniversary weekend at the lake house when everything began to unravel.

“You don’t belong in her shadow, Maya,” he murmured, standing behind me in the kitchen as I chopped vegetables.

“Don’t,” I said without turning.

“Don’t what? Tell the truth?”

“Don’t make me hate myself.”

“You already do,” he replied softly. “But not because of me.”

That night, I couldn’t sleep. The lake was quiet, the stars sharp and endless above. I walked to the dock barefoot, wrapped in a hoodie.

He followed.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked.

We didn’t touch. But the air between us buzzed with something unspoken.

“I think she married the version of me she created in her mind,” he said. “Not who I really am.”

“Then why stay?”

“Because leaving would make me the villain. And I’m already falling for her best friend.”

I should’ve walked away. I didn’t.

Two weeks later, he came to my apartment.

“Say stop,” he whispered, forehead resting against mine.

“I can’t,” I breathed.

The kiss was soft. Frightened. Real.

After that, we met in secret—parking lots, coffee shops, my apartment. We said it was just physical. It wasn’t. We lied every time we promised it was the last time.

And Alina?

She noticed.

“Are we okay?” she asked one night. “You’ve been... distant.”

“Just tired,” I said. “Work’s been overwhelming.”

She hugged me and whispered, “You know you’re the one person I trust with everything, right?”

That sentence cracked something deep inside me.

Eventually, we ended it.

Not because the feelings faded. But because the guilt became unbearable. The betrayal too heavy.

He stayed. I left.

I cut them both off. New job. New apartment. New city. I disappeared.

Three years have passed.

Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, I still hear his voice:

“You’re the only one who sees me.”

And I wonder what might’ve happened if I had said what my heart longed to scream:

“I see you too. I always did.”

But love, in real life, isn’t always enough. Sometimes, timing kills what honesty begins.

I live with my choice.

But deep down, I still wonder…

Does he?