Who? If not You

We were always close. Closer than most. The kind of friendship where words weren’t always needed, just a glance across a room, a half-smile, a text with no context but full understanding. People often asked if we were together. We’d laugh it off. I laughed a little too quickly, maybe. She never noticed.

There were moments, though, small, forgettable to most. Like when her fingers lingered just a second longer while handing me her water bottle. Or when she rested her head on my shoulder during a long metro ride, eyes closed, completely at ease. My heart raced, but I stayed still. I didn’t want to scare away something so natural.

I had rehearsed the words a hundred times.
“I like you.”
“You mean more to me than just a friend.”
“Have you ever wondered if this… could be something else?”

But every time I got close, the voice in my head got louder. What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I lose her altogether? What if I ruin the one bond that’s never let you down? I wish I could say it, I really do. But the words never came out.

So instead, I started speaking in other ways. Remembering her coffee order even when she changed it. Picking up on her moods before she voiced them. Staying up just to send her notes for the exam she was too tired to study for. Being around. Always. Without asking for anything back.

But the thing about unsaid love is, it starts expecting to be understood without being spoken. And I began to ache in that silence. Hoping she'd notice. Hoping she'd just look at me one day, and know. Not because I made a grand gesture. But because… if not her, who else could see through me?

She once joked that I’d make a great boyfriend someday. I smiled. Not because it was funny, but because I was already trying, just silently, for her.

Maybe one day I’ll say it. Maybe I won’t.
But if she ever asks, even years from now,
“Did you ever love me?”
I’d answer,
“Who else could I have loved, if not you?”