I wasn't supposed to be there.
I only went to return the book She left in class—nothing dramatic, nothing romantic. Just me, doing what I always did: quietly taking care of her from the shadows she never looked into.
But when I stepped into the courtyard behind the school, I froze.
She was standing there, holding a small white gift bag, her hands trembling the way mine always did around her. And in front of her was him—the guy everyone said was perfect, the guy she always smiled at without realizing how the smile crushed me a little more each time.
"I… I like you," she said, voice cracking slightly.
The words hit me like a slap I never saw coming.
For a moment, the world went silent.
Even my heartbeat seemed to stop, as if it didn't know how to continue.
She looked so nervous, so hopeful.
It was the look I always wished she would give me.
And she smiled.
Not the polite smile she gave everyone—no, this one was warm, soft, the kind that reached her eyes. The kind I dreamed of receiving, even once.
"I like you too," he said.
I didn't remember dropping the book.
I didn't remember turning away.
I only remembered how the sound of their laughter followed me, echoing in the empty hallway, wrapping around my chest like a hand squeezing too tightly.
I had always known my feelings would remain unreturned.
But knowing and seeing are two different kinds of pain.
And that day, I learned what it felt like for a heart to break quietly—
not with screams, not with tears,
but with a single step backward…
and the silent promise that I would learn how to let go.