She used to look at me like I hung the damn stars. Like I was worth every bit of love she poured into me.

Now she doesn’t look at me at all.

I see her in the common room, laughing at something someone else said. It’s quiet, polite. But it cuts deep anyway. Because I remember how she used to save those smiles for me. Soft ones. Real ones.

She loved me. Hell, she told me. Over and over—little confessions dressed up as jokes. Touches that lingered, glances that said more than words ever could. I never said anything back. Didn’t know how. Thought I had time.

Turns out time runs out.

She doesn’t wait for me anymore. Doesn’t ask if I’m okay, doesn’t lean into me like she used to. I didn’t notice when it changed—when she stopped trying. Just woke up one day and realized the space she filled was empty. And the worst part? She’s still here. Same building. Same room. Just… unreachable.

I miss her. I miss the version of me she believed in. The one she saw even when I didn’t.

I thought silence was safer. That if I didn’t say it, I couldn’t ruin it.

But silence is a slow kind of cruelty.

And now I’m the one watching her walk away. Not because she wants to—because she had to. Because you can’t keep pouring into someone who only takes.

She loved me first.

But I fell harder.

And too damn late.