There was something about the way they smiled—a flicker of warmth that felt like sunlight after a storm. It wasn't the kind of smile you could easily forget, nor one that could ever belong to you. It was free, fleeting, and untouched by the weight of possession. And yet, every time it appeared, my heart betrayed me with a pang of yearning I couldn't suppress.
I'd known them for a while, though not in any meaningful way. Our interactions were brief, always contained within the bounds of politeness and small talk. They never knew how deeply their laughter resonated in my quiet moments or how their words lingered like a melody I couldn't shake. The connection I felt wasn't tangible—it was the kind that bloomed in the spaces between glances and unspoken words.
I wanted to say something, to confess how their presence turned ordinary days extraordinary. But fear has a way of building walls where bridges could have been. What if they didn't feel the same? What if the bond I cherished was only an illusion, one-sided and fragile? I told myself it was better this way, to love them in silence, to treasure them from a distance where the pain of rejection couldn't reach me.
But love, real love, refuses to stay confined. It leaks out in stolen glances, in the way my voice softened when I spoke to them, in the careful attention I gave to every little thing they did. They never noticed, or perhaps they did but chose to ignore it. Either way, their smile remained something I could never own, a fleeting beauty that felt as distant as the stars.
Over time, the ache of longing turned into a quiet acceptance. I began to see that love doesn't always need to be declared or reciprocated to be real. Sometimes, it's enough to simply feel it—to hold it close, like a secret that's yours alone. Their smile was a gift, even if it was never meant for me, and their presence in my life was a reminder of how deeply I could feel, even for something I could never truly have.
And so, I let them go, but not the love. It stayed, not as a wound, but as a quiet truth—a love I felt, but that would always remain unknown.