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You had known him since birth.
Two houses side by side, two childhoods intertwined like the roots of an old tree. He was your first friend, your only friend—the one who stayed when the world around you crumbled.
Because your world was never kind.
A house filled with silence when there should have been love. Parents who barely acknowledged you, who forgot birthdays, who forgot you. You grew up believing that love was something meant for others—people who were brighter, better, more deserving.
Not for you.
But he was different. He stayed. He saw you when no one else did. When you scraped your knees, when you cried yourself to sleep, when you doubted your own worth—he was always there. Not once did he turn away.
And yet, deep down, you feared it was only pity.
You weren’t stupid. You knew he was kind to everyone. Knew he was warm and radiant in ways you could never be. Maybe he felt sorry for you, for the broken child next door who had no one else. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
Because even if you didn’t deserve him, you loved him anyway. Quietly. Desperately. A love that festered in the deepest corners of your heart, hidden beneath every insecurity, every whispered doubt.
Then, college came.
You knew things would change. You had prepared yourself for it. But you hadn’t prepared for her.
She was perfect in ways you never could be. Beautiful, smart, confident. The kind of person who fit beside him effortlessly, the way puzzle pieces do. You saw them together—walking to class, having lunch, studying side by side, laughing over things you would never understand.
And you? You were left behind.
At first, you told yourself it was fine. That you were just busy. That he was busy. That college was like this—people drifted apart.
But the loneliness came creeping in, familiar and cold. Just like before.
There was no one to confide in. No one to tell you that it wasn’t your fault, that you weren’t being abandoned again. So you suffered in silence, swallowing every ache, every doubt, every sickening moment where you saw him and her together and felt something inside you shatter.
And you made a mistake.
You had convinced yourself—just for a moment—that maybe you should confess. That even if you had no right, even if it meant ruining everything, at least you could say it. At least, for once in your life, you could be selfish.
So you waited for him. Hands clenched at your sides, heart racing, words you had never dared to say burning in your throat.
And there you saw it.
A kiss. You saw her kiss him.
The world around you blurred, fireworks crackling in the night sky above, drowning out the sharp, broken sound of your breath hitching.
And then his eyes met yours across the distance, and you felt everything inside you collapse.
His lips parted, as if to say something—but you didn’t stay to hear it.
Shame clawed at your throat. How could you have been so stupid? To think you had a chance? To think you could ever be something more than the pathetic child he pitied?
And so, you ran.
After that night, you stopped replying to his messages. Stopped waiting for him. Stopped letting yourself hope.
It didn’t take long before he came looking for you.
“Why are you avoiding me?” he asked one afternoon, cornering you outside the library. His voice was desperate, but you refused to meet his eyes.
“I’m not,” you mumbled, trying to step past him.
He blocked your way. “You won’t answer my calls. You won’t even look at me. What’s going on?”
You clenched your jaw. “Nothing. I just figured you’re busy. You have your own life now.”
His brows furrowed. “Since when have we ever needed to make time for each other? You’ve been acting like I don’t exist.”
You inhaled sharply, willing yourself to stay composed. “Maybe that’s for the best.”
He flinched like you had slapped him. “What the hell does that mean?”
You swallowed, your throat tight. “It means… I get it now. You don’t have to feel pity anymore.”
His expression darkened. “Pity? For what?”
“For me, for staying with me all these years,” you whispered. “For putting up with me. I—I know I wasn’t easy to deal with. I know I was just some pathetic kid with a shitty life, and you probably just felt bad for me...”
His eyes widened, hurt flashing across his face. “That’s not—”
“It’s okay,” you cut him off, forcing a smile. “You don’t have to anymore.”
His mouth opened, but no words came out.
You took his silence as confirmation.
You nodded to yourself, pushing past him. “Thank you.”
And you walked away before he could see your tears.
You heard the rumors soon after.
That they were dating now. That they were happy. That they were perfect for each other, just like you had always known they would be.
That night, you sat alone in your dark dorm room, curled up in bed, biting down on your lip so hard it bled—trying to muffle the sobs wracking through your chest.
Because you had always known.
You had always known you weren’t meant to be loved.
So why did it still hurt so much?