Has it been a long time? I asked him.
We both sat in the empty classroom.
Um. He nodded.
I really wanted to tell him—tell him about my unrequited love. But my courage slipped through my fingers every time I opened my mouth.
Um.
That’s all he would say during moments like this.
I’m not a fool, so I know he doesn’t feel the same way.
I could feel it through his gestures, the look in his eyes, and the silence between us.
We had our fair share of moments in this friendship, but it is only a friendship after all. There will always be a wall between us—a boundary marked by invisible ink—one that I cannot cross.
I texted him when we graduated. I thought about him when we were separated by thousands of miles. When the sun set in his city, I would wonder if he fell asleep next to someone else. I wondered if he ever thought about me. I wondered if I could be something more than a friend, even if it was only for a fleeting moment—one that erupted then smoldered like a decaying firework.
But if I really meant something more, we wouldn’t be sitting here, fifteen years later, in an empty high school classroom, allowing the silence to chain us to these chairs.
Yet it has been fifteen years. After all these years, I wanted to know: do all of my thoughts of him mean nothing?
"I miss you," I said.
"Um," he nodded, "how have you been?"
"Do you miss me?"
"Sure."
I felt like I was pushing against a wall, but it wouldn’t budge. My weight against the wall—my weight. A cold, infallible stone wall.
"So how have you been?" he redirected the conversation.
"I'm okay."
"Where are you working now?"
"East town."
"You're home for the holidays?"
"Yeah."
"How are your parents? And your brother?"
"They are doing well... They would be happy to hear that you found a job teaching here."
"Of course, this building has way too much memories."
"It really does... do you remember the time we decided to stay after school and play reverse hide-and-seek?"
"Of course... we didn't expect the sun to set so early."
"It was completely pitch dark."
It was completely pitch dark.
But I remember the sound of his steady breaths next to mine. Reverse hide-and-seek means if you are found, you hide with the seeker.
He found me, so we went hiding together. We stayed behind the curtains in the music room. It was quiet and dark. Only a beam of light sprinkled through the seam.
It cast a spotlight on his left cheek. I remembered staring at his cheekbone. This was the face I had fallen for. It was something I couldn’t explain, but I wanted to be with this guy. Even without words being exchanged, at that very moment, I felt at peace.
“But I don’t really remember the rest.” His voice woke me from my trance.
“I really miss those times...”
“It’s just part of our childhood...”
It was more than my childhood. We were seventeen, and he was my first love.
But my memories weren’t a reflection of his.
“I’m really glad to see you here,” I said. The temperature in the room dropped. It was cold. I imagined snowflakes falling—specks of melting dust covering the ground.
“Um.”
“I really liked you.”
“Um.”
“...”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I know you liked me.”
“Oh…”
“Mina, you are a really good friend.”
“...”
“Truly, I had a lot of good times with you. But I think perhaps it is best that we stay like this.”
“Oh…”
He was now looking at me. His eyes were still, calm, brown like the color of earth.
“Did you know all this time?” I took a deep breath and asked.
“Yes.”
“How did you know?”
“Um... just from the way you talked to me. Sometimes you would linger and look at me. I guess I just knew.”
“So you’re not as oblivious as I thought…”
“Um.”
“Can I ask why?”
“Um.”
“Why don’t you feel the same way?”
“It’s just a feeling, I guess. I can’t really explain. I don’t know how to tell you—I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
I nodded. It was as if the wall between us was finally crumbling, and I didn’t have to try. The problem is, there’s no point in crossing the boundary anymore.
“So you never felt anything different about us? Even just for a moment?”
“No.”
“...”
“...”
“Thank you.”
“Um.”
Thank you for being honest. Thank you for giving me the answer I’ve waited fifteen years for.
I stood up. I was the first one wanting to leave this time. I looked in his direction but not directly at him. I felt his presence next to me, but I didn’t want to touch that right now.
I nodded at him, bid my goodbyes, and walked out of the classroom.
I walked down the hallway, the walls staring back at me. The hallway was empty, the sound of my footsteps echoing around me.
I finally felt it. I finally felt a certain degree of clarity. I could finally see beyond the distance. The fog disappeared. The path ahead cleared.
However, the clarity didn’t come from my confession.
Because I never did confess.
I lied. I never told him how I felt. I sat in the classroom—that was true. But I never told him about my feelings. I stopped right after talking about my family. I couldn’t bring myself to disclose my feelings like that—raw and naked.
I can’t be vulnerable. I don’t want to be vulnerable.
I wasn’t ready to wake up from my own rosy-colored recollection of our childhood.
I wasn’t ready to have him confirm that he did not—in fact—ever love me.
So I told him I had to go home, and I walked out of the classroom.
But the fog did disappear. And the path ahead became clear.
We never saw each other again.