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.

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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

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✶ 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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