The crush that lived in silence
There are people you never really have, but somehow, they shape everything that follows.
I spoke to him almost every day. Just small things: questions, comments, conversation that lives on the surface. But underneath, I was building entire worlds. I memorized his expressions, the way he spoke, the cadence of his sentences. I knew when he was tired, when he was distracted, when he was trying not to look too long in my direction.
He pretended not to notice. And I pretended not to care.
But it was all right there.
My friends knew, of course. I wasn’t subtle. I’d light up whenever he entered the room, find excuses to linger, offer help I didn’t need to offer. I once spent hours writing a birthday card I’d never give him, choosing words that could mean everything or nothing at all.
And I really believed there was potential for something between us.
Or maybe I just needed to believe it.
Maybe that’s what longing is.
My love for English bloomed around that time. I threw myself into it, not for grades, not for travel, not even for music, though that played a part—but because it felt like the only way to get closer to the version of him I had made up in my head. It became a devotion. A way of building a bridge.
Sometimes I would write down a date and swear that after that day, I would stop thinking about him. I’d make it official: draw a box around it, underline it twice. But the thoughts didn’t stop. They never do just because you ask them to.
I still remember one of those dates. I’ve used it as a password ever since.
Not because I haven’t let go, but because I haven’t forgotten what it meant to feel something so intensely, even if it never became anything more.
There was a kiss, eventually. A careful one. A moment that felt like the breaking of a spell. It didn’t lead to anything. It wasn’t meant to, and I think deep down, I knew that.
But still, he stayed with me. Long after that year ended. Long after I moved away. Not someone I was meant to be with, but someone who woke something in me. A depth of feeling, a sense of mystery. The beginning of a pattern I wouldn’t fully understand until much later.
I don’t think he ever knew the real weight of it all.
But I did.
And that was enough to make it real.
Definition
Longing /ˈlɔːŋɪŋ/ (n.) The act of building a future on someone who never asked for it Silence /ˈsaɪləns/ (n.) What you hear when you pretend not to care Language /ˈlæŋɡwɪdʒ/ (n.) A bridge made of verbs you’ll never get to use Hope /hoʊp/ (n.) The thing you fold into a birthday card you never send Kiss /kɪs/ (n.) A spell you break by letting it happen Goodbye /ɡʊdˈbaɪ/ (n.) A word you never said— because you never had to
✶ This essay is part of From the Beginning, a personal series built from my diaries—one memory at a time. You’re reading 1998. Each piece revisits the girl I was, the world I came from, and the details I didn’t know I was already saving.
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