The next morning felt heavier than usual. The kind of morning where the sunlight looked dull, where even the wind outside seemed too lazy to move. i walked into the campus café.
i spotted the usual faces at their usual tables. The laughter. The chatter. The comfort of routine.
Except, one face was missing.
Gabriel's.
i waited for a while before it sank in. His seat in class — empty. His bag — not there. His voice — nowhere.
At first, i thought he was just late. Gabriel was always running late — for classes, for coffee, for life. So i told myself he'd walk in any second, grinning, apologizing, hair slightly messy from the wind.
But minutes turned to hours.
And he never came.
~
By noon, my friends were laughing over something, but my eyes kept flickering to the door, my ears half-listening for his voice. Every time someone new entered, my heart raced. And every time it wasn't him, it sank a little deeper.
When class ended, i stared at his empty chair again. The sun had shifted now, and the shadow of the window bars fell right across his desk — like even the light was waiting for him.
i picked my phone, restless, wondering if i should text him. Just a "Hey, you didn't come today?"
But the words looked too eager, too obvious. i deleted it.
Then i typed again: "All good?"
Deleted it.
Then: "You okay?"
Deleted that too.
It was ridiculous — how much thought went into something so simple.
All i wanted was to know if he was fine. But caring, when it's one-sided, always comes with restraint.
i didn't want to look like i was waiting for him.
Even though i was.
~
By evening, i heard someone mention casually,
"Gabriel's sick. Caught a fever or something."
That one sentence made me pause for a moment.
He's sick.
my fingers clenched around my notebook. i wanted to rush to him, to check if he'd eaten, to ask if he'd taken medicine, to say "please rest."
But i couldn't.
i didn't have the right.
So i just sat there — quiet, nodding, pretending it was nothing.
Inside, my mind was screaming a thousand questions.
Was he okay?
Did someone check on him?
Was he alone?
Did he remember to drink water, take his pills, rest enough?
And yet, all i could do was open my chat with him and stare at the blinking cursor, typing and deleting over and over.
~
That night, i couldn't study. i sat on my bed, scrolling aimlessly through our old messages — the ones where we laughed about deadlines, shared random memes, talked about how boring lectures were.
i found one where he'd written,
"You stress too much, Lizzie. You'll get wrinkles at 23."
And i smiled, tears pricking my eyes.
Because even when he teased me, he sounded like home.
Now, the silence was unbearable.
i opened my notes app and wrote instead. Because words were the only way i knew how to breathe.
He didn't come today.
And I didn't realize how much I've built my day around him until he wasn't there.
The empty chair felt like a part of me missing.
Isn't it strange, how someone can be so present even in their absence?
I hope he's okay. I hope someone reminded him to eat.
I wish I could be that someone.
i closed my eyes, imagining him lying in bed, maybe half asleep, maybe scrolling through his phone, completely unaware that someone miles away was worrying like it was my heartbeat on the line.
i whispered into the dark,
"Get well soon, idiot," and smiled weakly at the ceiling.
my chest felt heavy — not with love, but with helplessness.
Because sometimes, love isn't grand gestures or loud confessions.
It's the quiet ache of wanting to care but not being allowed to.
It's wishing someone well in silence.
~
That night, i didn't write a confession.
i didn't draft messages i'd never send.
i just lay there — the soft hum of the ceiling fan above me, my phone facedown beside me — and whispered one small prayer.
That he would wake up tomorrow feeling better.
That his fever would break.
That he would smile again.
And even if he never knew —
it would be enough.
Because sometimes, loving someone means being invisible in their story, but still choosing to stay.
---