The words hung in the air for a moment—fragile, suspended—delicate in their uncertainty.
Ms. Marie tilted her head slightly, her expression softening like a warm blanket draped over cold shoulders.
Ms. Marie: That depends. Who said it? And how did it make you feel?
John sat on the porch step, his shoulders hunched inward as if trying to fold himself out of existence. Finally, he looked up. His eyes, usually guarded and calm, held a strange blend of confusion and vulnerability.
John: It was someone I've known for a long time… Rachel. A childhood friend. She told me last night that she loved me. Out of nowhere. I didn't even know she felt that way. I didn't reply—I just stood there. I froze.
Ms. Marie nodded slowly, watching him with the kind of care that didn't require words.
Ms. Marie: And now you're here because you still don't know what to say to her?
John gave the faintest nod, barely lifting his head, as though admitting it made it more real.
She studied him for a moment, the evening light catching the wrinkles by her eyes as she leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees.
Ms. Marie: Do you love her back?
John: I… I don't know. That's the problem. She's been good to me since we were kids. I care about her—deeply. She's kind. Smart. Funny. Always there. But when she said those words… it felt like something cracked inside me. Not bad. Just… unexpected. Off-key.
Ms. Marie: So what's really holding you back? Is it that you don't feel the same way about her? Or… is there something else? Why is it so hard to respond to Rachel?
The question struck John in a way he didn't anticipate. Like a soft blow to the ribs—enough to make him flinch, but not enough to knock the wind out of him.
He should've felt flattered. Rachel liked him—loved him, even. She'd always been there, a constant. Safe. Loyal.
He opened his mouth to speak—but no words came.
And then, unbidden, a name surfaced. A whisper from somewhere deep in his chest.
Kana.
His breath caught. His chest tightened, suddenly heavy beneath invisible weight. His gaze shifted sideways, unfocused, as memories of Kana danced across his mind like sunlight on water—faint, beautiful, impossible to hold.
Her smile. Her laugh. The soft lilt in her voice when she joked through the phone. The way she tilted her head when she was thinking hard about something. The strength in her words. The vulnerability in her silence.
Rachel's confession replayed in his mind—but it was Kana's voice that echoed in his soul.
He blinked slowly. The world felt heavier again. But not in the same way.
He exhaled and finally spoke, the truth scratching its way out.
John: I don't know. (pauses) Maybe it's because I've known Rachel for so long. Maybe it's because she's been by my side longer than anyone else. But… I'm scared. I'm scared that I can't give her what she wants because…
Ms. Marie: Because you don't see her that way… or because someone else is on your mind?
John froze.
She'd seen straight through him—as if she'd read his thoughts like an open book he didn't know he was holding. His lips parted, then closed again.
How did she know?
He let out a shaky breath, his voice quiet when it returned.
John: I don't know…
Ms. Marie didn't press. She leaned back slightly, allowing the silence to settle like dust around them. It wasn't uncomfortable—it was the kind of quiet that gave thoughts room to breathe.
Minutes passed like autumn leaves falling, slow and steady. Eventually, she spoke.
Ms. Marie: Love's a funny thing, kiddo. Sometimes it hits you like lightning—bright, loud, impossible to miss. Other times, it's quiet… sneaks up on you like a slow-burning fire. And sometimes, you don't even recognize it until it's already changed you.
John listened, each word carving space inside him for something he hadn't let himself feel fully.
Ms. Marie: But what matters isn't how loud or fast it is. What matters is honesty. First with yourself. Then with the people who care about you. If you're not sure what you feel, it's okay to say that. But if you are—and you're afraid—then it might be time to ask yourself why.
He nodded, slowly, taking in every word like a lifeline.
Ms. Marie: Just remember—love's not a test you pass or fail. It's something you grow into, if it's real. You don't owe anyone a perfect answer. But you do owe her the truth. Don't give her silence if what's inside you is more than that.
John turned those words over in his mind like a stone in his hand.
You don't owe anyone a perfect answer, but you do owe her the truth.
He thought about Rachel again—her eyes when she said those three words, how vulnerable she looked, how much courage it must've taken. And then, in the same breath, he thought about Kana—how she never said the words, but made him feel them in the quietest ways.
The silence stretched, but something inside him had shifted. Gently, but unmistakably.
He turned his gaze to the sack of leaves beside him, the rake resting nearby. Then he looked back up at Ms. Marie.
For the first time that day, the question that had been clawing at him didn't feel so heavy.
John: Thanks, Ms. Marie.
She waved him off with a playful smirk.
Ms. Marie: Now get back to work, Romeo. These leaves aren't going to bag themselves.
John chuckled, the tension easing off his shoulders.
John: Right away, ma'am.
Ms. Marie: And next time the wind blows 'em down the block, I'm making you chase after them.
He laughed—genuinely this time—as he picked up the rake. The wind still whispered through the trees, the sky still bathed in hues of orange and gold. But something in John felt steadier now, grounded.
He didn't have all the answers—but he knew the next step.
And this time, he was ready to take it.
*****
It was 7:30 PM, and the comforting clatter of dishes filled the kitchen as Rachel stood beside her mother, sleeves rolled up and hands submerged in warm, soapy water. Dinner had just ended—a simple but hearty meal of grilled chicken, rice, and vegetables—and the house was quiet aside from the faint hum of the dishwasher and the occasional burst of laughter from the living room where her little brother was engrossed in his cartoons on their massive HD TV.
Her father wasn't home. He'd flown out two days ago for a photography assignment overseas, something Rachel had grown used to over the years.
Rachel moved mechanically, scrubbing each plate with care but hardly noticing what she was doing. Her thoughts were elsewhere, looping over the same moment again and again: John's face that afternoon—his eyes cast downward, his lips pressed tightly in frustration, his tone distant when she'd tried to talk to him. It was unlike him. And it was eating at her.
Her mother, drying off a pot beside her, paused and glanced over. She tilted her head slightly, concern etched into her gentle features.
Mrs. Longworth: Are you alright, Rachel?
Startled slightly, Rachel blinked and quickly forced a smile, trying to mask the weight she was carrying.
Rachel: Yeah. I'm fine, Mom.
But the smile didn't reach her eyes, and her mother could see right through it.
Mrs. Longworth: Hmm. You don't look fine. You've had that same furrow in your brow since we sat down to eat.
Rachel hesitated, her hands slowing in the sink. She didn't want to worry her mother—not when she already had so much to manage with Dad being away. So she reached for the easiest excuse.
Rachel: It's just school stress, Mom. You know, final year. Exams. College stuff.
Mrs. Longworth arched a brow but didn't push, drying her hands and placing the cloth on the counter.
Mrs. Longworth: Well, don't go tying yourself in knots over it, sweetheart. You've always done your best—and that's more than enough. Just remember to take care of yourself too. Eat well. Sleep properly. And don't keep everything bottled up, alright?
Rachel gave a small nod, her throat tight with emotion she wasn't ready to share.
Rachel: Okay, Mom.
They worked in silence for a little while, the air filled only with the clink of utensils and the low rumble of the TV in the distance. Rachel kept her eyes focused on the dishes, but her mind drifted again—this time not just to John's expression, but to the way her words had seemed to bounce off him like pebbles on a wall.
She had told him she loved him. She'd said it quietly, almost too softly, afraid of the answer but needing to say it anyway. And he had just stared at her—no words, no reaction, just a look that she still couldn't quite interpret.
Had she made a mistake?
The thought sent a ripple of unease through her, and she gripped a plate a little too tightly.
Mrs. Longworth noticed again but didn't comment. She simply moved beside her daughter and gently placed a reassuring hand on her back.
Mrs. Longworth: Whatever it is… just know you're not alone. Alright?
Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded again. She didn't speak—not yet. But somehow, those few words made her feel a little less like the floor was crumbling beneath her.
*****
Moments later, Rachel sat quietly on her bed, tucked away in the soft warmth of her teddy bear-themed bedroom. Plush animals lined the headboard and sat neatly on the shelves—reminders of a more innocent time, a time before love got so complicated. Her fingers hovered over her phone screen, the soft glow illuminating her face in the dim room. She was texting Leanne, her best friend, who had just asked the question that had been circling her thoughts all evening:
Leanne009:
[Still thinking about John?]
Rachel sighed, her thumbs moving instinctively.
Popstargirl:
[Of course I'm thinking about him. I…]
But before she could finish typing, her phone buzzed with a new notification. Her heart skipped as she read the sender's name:
Gamerboy115 sent you a message.
Rachel's eyes widened. It was him. John.
She immediately tapped on the message tab, her breath hitching in her throat. The message read:
Gamerboy115:
[Hey, you mind coming outside?]
Her heart began to pound in her chest.
She scrambled off her bed and rushed to the window. She parted the curtains, and there—standing in the soft glow of the porch light—was John. He was actually outside her house.
Rachel gasped and then hurried back, checking her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a little messy, and she was still in her underwear. "Oh God," she muttered, quickly grabbing a pair of denim shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt. She pulled them on in record time, brushed her hair back with her fingers, and ran out of her room, taking the stairs two at a time. Her bare feet padded quickly across the wooden floor as she slipped quietly past the living room where her little brother was still watching cartoons.
In less than two minutes, she was outside, the cold night air brushing against her skin. And there he was—John—standing a few meters away from her front porch, hands in his pockets, his hoodie pulled up slightly to shield him from the chill.
Rachel: Hey…
John: Hey…
They stood there for a beat, awkward silence lingering between them like fog.
Rachel: Why did you call me outside? It's cold. You could've come in.
John looked down and scratched the back of his head, visibly nervous.
John: Well… what I'm about to say is kind of personal. I figured it'd be better if I said it out here—just us. I didn't want your family to overhear.
Rachel's heartbeat quickened, her hands fidgeting at the hem of her shirt. Her cheeks flushed as a part of her guessed what this might be about.
Rachel: Is it… about what I said yesterday?
John nodded, his expression unreadable.
She looked down, her fingers tightening around the edge of her shirt. The memory of her confession—the trembling words, the silence that followed—burned in her mind. Saying "I love you" had taken everything she had. And now, here he was.
Rachel: (nervously) So… what do you want to say?
John took a deep breath and finally looked her in the eyes.
John: Rachel… I've been thinking a lot about what you said. And I'm sorry—for not saying anything. You didn't deserve to be left in the dark like that.
Rachel: Hey… it's okay. I told you I didn't need an answer right away.
John: Yeah, I know. But you also said not to keep you waiting too long.
Rachel: (managing a soft smile) Yeah. I did.
John paused again, as if choosing every word carefully.
John: You've always been there for me. Since we were kids, you've been this constant—through everything. You were there when I was struggling, when I didn't even want to be around people. And I care about you… I really do. But…
Rachel felt the word but like a punch to the chest.
John: …not in the way you want me to. Not in the way you feel about me.
Her breath caught. Her entire body stilled as his words hung in the air like ice. Her heart felt like it had dropped straight to her stomach. It wasn't rejection. It was worse. It was gentle rejection. Sincere. Honest.
She stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted slightly. She didn't even realize she was trembling.
Rachel: (barely above a whisper) Wh…what?
John exhaled, his gaze filled with guilt.
John: I didn't want to lie to you just to make things easier. And I didn't want to say something I didn't mean. I'm just… not in that place right now. I'm not ready to feel that way about anyone. Not even someone like you. And you deserve someone who can meet you in that place—with a full heart, not a confused one.
He paused, and for a fleeting moment, an image of Kana drifted through his thoughts—her laugh, her words, her memory still tangled in his mind.
John: I think you're incredible, Rachel. Truly. And I care about what we have. But I don't want to give you false hope. I don't want to hurt you more by pretending there's something here when there isn't. I'm not that guy—not for you. Not right now.
Rachel stood there, frozen. Outwardly composed, but inside? Chaos. Her mind raced, screaming, No. This isn't how it was supposed to go. Her heart pounded, her lungs tightened, and her vision blurred with tears.
Rachel: (to herself, quietly) No… it wasn't supposed to go like this. This… this isn't how it's supposed to go…
The first tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another. She didn't even try to wipe them away. John saw them and immediately looked down, as if he couldn't bear to watch her break.
John: (thinking) She's crying…
But then something happened—something even John hadn't expected.
He heard her move. His eyes flicked up, and there she was—standing right in front of him, tears trailing silently down her cheeks, looking heartbreakingly beautiful beneath the pale moonlight.
Before he could say anything, Rachel reached out and grabbed his hoodie by the collar, pulling him gently toward her. His eyes widened in surprise, but there was no time to ask why, no time to hesitate.
She stood on her tiptoes, heart in her throat, and pressed her lips against his.