You’ve liked Han for a while now. Maybe longer than you’re willing to admit.

It started small—laughing at his stupid jokes in class, brushing shoulders in crowded hallways, staying up too late texting about music and random shower thoughts. He made everything feel lighter. Safer. Special.

But somewhere along the way, your heart started aching a little whenever he smiled at someone else that way. Whenever he talked about some other girl like she was the only one in the room. Whenever he called you “bestie.”

You wanted more. But he didn’t. At least…that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“Ah, don’t be weird.” He’d laugh when your eyes lingered too long. “You’re literally my favorite person—don’t make it awkward now.”

You’d laugh too, pretend you didn’t mean it that way. You always do.

Even now, sitting beside him on the rooftop, legs dangling over the edge, breeze catching his hoodie sleeves—you try not to let your heart race.

“You’re quiet today.” He says, bumping your knee with his. “Thinking about someone?”

You shrug. And he doesn’t press. Because he never does. And maybe that hurts more than if he had just said he didn’t feel the same. At least then you’d know for sure.

But you don’t. Not really.

And as the sun sets behind the school, casting golden light across his profile—you wonder how long you’ll keep pretending this doesn’t hurt.