Just a Girl in Love: A Story for the One Who Wouldn’t Stay

I didn’t know much about him—not really. Not the kind of knowing that counts. I knew how he laughed when he was nervous, how he cracked his knuckles when deep in thought, how he always ordered lemon in his tea even though he rarely drank it. But the things that matter? His fears, his past, the broken edges he hid behind charm and easy smiles—I never got close enough to touch those.

Still, I loved him like I had known him for a thousand years. And maybe that’s the most dangerous kind of love.

The kind that builds castles from assumptions and dreams instead of bricks and conversations.

The kind where you fall in love with a soul that never let you in, but you stayed outside hoping the door would open just once.

That’s what it was like with him.

It was always me, waiting.

Waiting for him to decide. To speak. To choose.

We’d go days talking about nothing, like old friends who never crossed the invisible line. Then, he’d look at me a certain way, and for a second, I’d think—this is it. This is the moment he finally sees me. Not as the girl he jokes with, texts when bored, or leans on when lonely… but as her. The one.

But it never came.

He drifted through my life like smoke—touching everything, leaving a scent behind, but never staying long enough to warm my bones.

Still, I kept circling back. Like a fool.

Like a girl in love.

The last time I saw him, he was leaving again—something about a trip, work, an escape. I don’t remember the words, just the feeling. The ache in my chest and the scream in my throat that I swallowed down because he never liked “too much emotion.”

Before he walked away, I finally asked:

“Can you tell me what you feel? I mean really feel?”

My voice didn’t shake, but my soul did.

He looked at me, eyes tired, maybe guilty. Maybe not.

And he said, “I don’t know.”

Three words that shattered me more than any "no" ever could.

But you know what?

I stood there, in my own wreckage, and something inside me shifted.

I realized I was never asking for too much. I was asking for the minimum: truth, presence, clarity.

I wasn’t a storm. I was sunlight waiting on the edge of his shadow.

And he never stepped into the light.

It’s funny. I used to think love meant waiting. That devotion looked like patience.

But now I know…

Love is not silent confusion.

It is not hiding how you feel.

It’s not disappearing when it gets real.

It is not running when you’re finally seen.

Love is showing up. Choosing. Speaking.

And as for me?

I’m still just a girl in love—but not with him anymore.

Now I’m in love with honesty, with peace, with someone who sees me and stays.

And if you're reading this, wondering if you’re asking for too much, begging someone with your silence to choose you—let me tell you something:

You are not too much.

You’re just asking the wrong person.

Because someone out there will listen when you say “listen here”

And they won’t run.

They’ll stay.

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If this story touched you, share it. Maybe someone out there needs to hear they deserve more than “I don’t know.”