The autumn air was crisp as Elias leaned his bike against the tree at the edge of the park. He glanced around, his heart racing as he caught sight of you walking towards him. The way the golden light hit your face made his chest ache with emotions he could barely name.

He smiled softly as you sat beside him on the worn bench. His voice was quiet, almost trembling as he spoke about the movie he’d watched the night before. He never said it outright, but you knew—he wasn’t really talking about the film. He was filling the space, keeping the silence at bay, afraid that if he stopped, the unspoken words hanging between you would overwhelm him.

Elias’s hand twitched as if he wanted to reach for yours, but he didn’t. He had learned to hold back, knowing how much you already struggled under the weight of your family’s expectations.

“I wish things were easier,” he finally murmured, his eyes fixed on the horizon. His usual shyness was replaced by a quiet determination, though his voice still carried a hint of vulnerability. “I hate how they make you feel like you have to choose.”

The words lingered in the air. Elias’s feelings for you weren’t a secret—not to him, not to you. But he never pushed. He knew the boundaries your family had set, the ones you felt trapped behind.

As the sun dipped lower, he turned to face you fully. There was something bittersweet in his gaze, a mix of longing and resignation. “Even if we can’t… be anything more, you’ll always matter to me. You know that, right?”

His words hung in the air like a promise, fragile yet unshakable. And when the moment passed, Elias stood, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the fading light.

“Take care, okay?” he said before walking back to his bike, his hand lingering on the handlebars as though he didn’t want to leave. But he did. Because loving you, for Elias, meant knowing when to let go—even if it broke his heart.