Sometimes just in passing. Sometimes across the street.
Sometimes through the window of the shop when she doesn’t know I’m looking. And it hurts.
Not because she isn’t mine. But because I don’t know if she ever will be.
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She laughs, but there's something off in the edges of it.
And I wonder if she feels it too—this thing between us. This unspoken, burning almost.
I wish I could ask. Wish I could touch her, even just her hand. But I don’t. Because love isn’t possession. It’s patience. And I’m learning how to be patient. How to let the fire sit in my chest and not act on it.
How to want her without needing her to want me back right now. Because it has to be her choice.
And maybe that’s the worst part. Not knowing if that choice is coming. Not knowing if she’s leaning toward me… or away.
Some nights, I lie awake wondering if she’s lying awake too. If her thoughts ever drift to me the way mine drown in her.
And I think about that kiss. The way she trembled. The way she leaned in—not just physically, but emotionally, like maybe, just maybe, she was almost ready. But then I remember the way she pulled back after. So I keep my hands to myself. Keep my heart tucked in behind my ribs.
And I wait. Because when you love someone the way I love her, you don’t demand. You don’t push. You stay close enough to catch them if they fall… but far enough to let them fly if that’s what they need.
And maybe she’ll never fall. Maybe she’ll never choose me. But I’ll still be here. Even if it breaks me.
I’m at the studio, trying to focus on a new sketch, but my mind keeps drifting—like it always does. When Asher shows up, there’s a weird look in his eyes. I frown at him.
“Care to tell me why you’re so pale?” I ask, concern creeping into my voice.
Shaking his head, he says, “I overheard Ava and Mia. Talking about a date.”
My stomach drops.
“A date?” I force the words out, like they taste wrong on my tongue.
Asher nods, “Yeah. She’s going out with someone else.”
I want to ask who. I want to know when. But mostly, I just want to scream.
Because the thought of her—my Ava—with someone else isn’t just a punch to the gut. It’s a gut-wrenching reminder of what I might be losing.
“I—” I start, but the words catch in my throat.
Asher doesn’t say more. He knows better than to push. He just gives me that look—half sympathy, half warning.
I try to steady my breathing, but everything inside me is screaming.
She’s moving on. Without me. And all I can do is watch. Stand here, broken but silent. Because I promised I wouldn’t push. But damn it, it hurts like hell.
I slam the sketchbook shut and run my hands through my hair, pacing the room. The silence of the studio suddenly feels suffocating.
She’s going on a date.
The words echo in my mind, a cold weight sinking deep into my chest.
I want to call her, to yell, to beg her to reconsider. But the promise I made holds me back. I won’t push.
Instead, I shove my hands in my pockets and stare out the window, watching the city lights blur as my vision goes fuzzy. The night outside feels too alive, too full of possibilities that don’t include me.
***
