His POV

I remember the first time I really noticed her—it was back in elementary school. She had these bright eyes that could cut right through me, and even when she teased me, I couldn’t bring myself to be annoyed. I’d act flustered, waving my hands and stumbling over words, but secretly, I loved every second of her attention. She made even the dullest classroom feel alive. Back then, I thought it was just a silly crush, something I’d grow out of. But I never did.

As we grew older, my feelings only grew sharper, heavier, more impossible to ignore. She was still that same girl who could make my heart race just by looking my way. But now she carried herself with this quiet confidence that made it even harder for me to speak when she was near. I tried to play it cool, tried to convince myself it was enough just to be by her side. Sometimes, though, when she laughed with me or touched my arm absentmindedly, I wondered if maybe—just maybe—she felt something too.

By the time we were in high school, we weren’t just kids anymore. She had this way of seeing right through me, like she knew all the words I wanted to say but couldn’t. There were moments when we were so close, closer than friends should be, and my chest ached with the weight of everything left unsaid. I’d tell myself, tonight I’ll confess, tonight I’ll let her know she’s always been the one. But every time, the fear held me back. What if she didn’t love me the way I loved her? What if I lost her altogether?

Now, as young adults, I find myself standing here with her once more—her hand brushing against my face, her eyes steady on mine. The world feels hushed, like it’s waiting for me to finally decide. I’ve loved her all this time, through childhood laughter and teenage uncertainty, through every little moment that made her part of me. My heart is pounding, begging me to let the truth out. But as I look at her now, inches away, I can’t help but wonder: will this be the moment I lose her, or the moment she finally lets me know she’s always loved me too?