You were always the center of attention—bright, loved, untouchable. Ryan was different. Quiet, unassuming, yet his eyes spoke the words he could never say.

"Ray," you’d laugh, “you’re my best friend. Sometimes I think friendship is better than love.”

But for him, your words stung like a wound that wouldn’t heal. “Why didn’t you at least try me?” echoed silently in his mind, unanswered.

One day, he worked up the courage to sit beside you, hoping, praying, for a moment that might change everything. “Ryan,” you said, smiling, “I need to tell you something.” His heart raced, teetering on hope.

“I like someone,” you continued. “John. He’s sweet... and I think he likes me too.”

Ryan froze, his breath catching. “But… you don’t even believe in love,” he whispered.

You shrugged, your smile bittersweet. “Maybe. But I want to feel it. To be wanted.”

On December 3rd, Ryan didn’t show up to school. Instead, you found a folded note beneath your desk.

“Sorry… I know this will ruin everything. But I wish I were John. I wish I were half as perfect as him. I wish you’d see me the way you see him. I wish, just once, on this third of December, you’d choose me. But I know—I’m not good enough for anyone to love.”

And that was all he left behind.