Several months had slipped by, and our easy friendship had grown into something quietly special. One afternoon, Michael invited me to his house again, a visit like so many others but with a strange flutter of anticipation I couldn't quite place.
After playing our usual video games and sharing a simple meal he cooked himself, we stepped onto his balcony, the city humming softly around us. The air was warm, filled with the scent of blooming flowers from nearby gardens. Then, with a nervous breath, Michael turned to me.
"I like hanging out with you," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He fiddled with the edge of the balcony railing, as if steadying himself. "I wake up every day thinking about seeing and talking to you." He paused, eyes searching mine for a flicker of encouragement. "I always laugh and smile whenever we're together. You've become my source of happiness."
His fingers tightened into a gentle grip on the railing. "I never thought I'd fall in love, but I did—with you." His gaze dropped for a moment; then he looked up again, steady and honest. "I'm not rushing things; I just want you to know that I like you, I love you, and that this feeling is genuine and will last."
He took a tentative step closer, voice softer still, almost fragile. "I don't want to let you go, and I don't think I could love someone the way I love you now. This may sound childish because I'm only 16, but I'm not someone who falls in love easily. You're the first."
I stood there, frozen, unsure what to say. His honesty hung between us like fragile glass, shimmering with vulnerability. My heart pounded loud in my ears, drowning out the quiet city sounds around us. I could feel the warmth of the fading sun on my skin, but inside I was cold and uncertain.
Then—I chuckled, a nervous, brittle sound, as if laughter could break the tension. "If this is some kind of prank, you got me." I swallowed hard, forcing a smile. "Damn, I thought that was real for a second. You looked and sounded so serious that I couldn't tell if you were telling the truth."
Michael's jaw tightened, and he clenched his fist at his side. His eyes didn't waver; they held steady, sincere and unwavering. "It's the truth."
I didn't say more. Somehow, my feet moved before my mind caught up—I ran away, the cool evening air rushing past me as my chest tightened with fear and overwhelm. I was terrified to risk what we had, terrified of the unknown between us.
The weight of Michael's confession swirled in my mind like a storm, confusion and fear tangling with a fragile hope. I needed to escape the noise inside me, to find a quiet place where I could sort through the whirlwind of feelings without interruption.
I didn't know what I was doing. My feet kept moving as if they had a will of their own. Deep down, I didn't want this boy to disappear—everyone I'd loved before had left me, and I was terrified he would too. Maybe I was being selfish, but what else could I do? I didn't care if we stayed friends for life, as long as he stayed by my side. But instead, I ran away like an idiot, potentially ruining what we had. I didn't even know if he'd want to hang out with me again.
Tears slipped down my cheeks, blurring the world as I made my way all the way to the cemetery where my father was buried. I sat beside the worn headstone for hours, lost in the quiet company of memories, until the sun dipped low, painting the sky with soft shades of gold and pink.
The headstone was simple—edges softened by time but steady as the memories flooding my mind. I knelt and traced the engraved letters with trembling fingers. The breeze carried a mix of earth and blooming lilies, a bittersweet perfume that somehow felt comforting.
I whispered, voice fragile, "I wish you were here. Everything feels so complicated."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small handkerchief Michael had given me during one of our hangouts—a token of care I hadn't fully appreciated until now. Clutching it tightly, I felt a fragile thread weaving the past and the hope of what might be.
When I finally walked home, exhaustion weighed me down like a heavy fog. I must have cried myself to sleep or maybe it was the long walk—I don't know. But the moment I woke, my phone screen lit up with a message from Michael:
"I'm sorry, please forget about all the things I said."
My heart clenched painfully. This boy didn't deserve any of this. I know all too well the sting of unrequited love—the loneliness, the rejection—and yet, I had done the same to him. I stared at the message, unsure how to respond, and in the end, I simply stayed silent like I always did.