I’ve always been quiet, the kind of kid who hides in the background. My family didn’t have much. Dad cooked for other people all day, Mom sold things at the market, and my twin brothers…well, they were chaos wrapped in identical faces. Me? I was awkward, nerdy, invisible. And then there was her. I first met her in the summer house where I rented a small room. Her great-grandmother had lived there before, and as kids, she and her sister would sneak around, exploring every corner, making ghosts of memories I could only watch. When I was fourteen, she came back with her grandmother and younger brother. That summer, something shifted. We clicked instantly. Nights spent swimming under the stars, lying on the dock, counting constellations no one else cared about. Long walks along the shore, laughter that made my chest ache, secrets exchanged like treasures. My brothers joined in sometimes, but it was always us at the center. She was kind, smart, funny, and beautiful. She understood me. I didn’t realize it then, but I was falling—quietly, painfully, completely. And then life complicated things. My younger brother…he started noticing her in ways that made my stomach twist. I knew I couldn’t fight for her without hurting him. So I pulled back. I ignored her messages, avoided her calls, and my heart broke a little more each day. I wanted her desperately, but I couldn’t let myself have her. Summer ended. She left. And I spent the next two years craving her, imagining her with someone else, fighting this quiet, gnawing obsession I couldn’t name.

It was nine in the morning when I got back from my run. I expected silence, the familiar smell of salt and wood, maybe a lazy seagull somewhere. But she was in the garage. Alone. Concentrating on something, hair loose, sunlight catching the edges just right. She didn’t notice me. And I…couldn’t move. She’d grown over the last two summers. Taller, sharper, more beautiful than ever. My chest tightened, stomach twisting. I wanted to tell her everything—how much I’d missed her, how my heart had ached every single day she wasn’t here, how I’d never stopped wanting her—but I didn’t. I just leaned against the doorway and watched, letting the ache build inside me. Every small movement she made tormented me. The brush of her hair against her neck, the way she bit her lip in concentration, the curve of her shoulder as she leaned over her work… I was hers. I’d always been hers. And seeing her like this, oblivious to me, made the craving unbearable. I wanted to step forward, touch her hand, let her feel the years of restrained desire I’d carried for her. But I couldn’t. I just watched, heart pounding, body aching, desperate, helpless.