Barry Allen had been in love with Maeve since they were kids—long before he even understood what the word love meant. After his mom died, living with Maeve and her dad changed his whole world. She became his safe place, his anchor, his best friend—and secretly, his first and only love.

They grew up side by side, walking to school together, sharing inside jokes, and spending late nights at the kitchen table working on homework. Barry was always the smartest kid in the room, but when Maeve struggled with math, he would sometimes pretend not to understand a problem or purposely get an answer wrong, just so she wouldn’t feel bad. He never wanted her to feel less than him; to Barry, Maeve was already everything.

As they got older, things only got harder. Maeve started dating, and Barry forced himself to play the part of the supportive best friend—smiling through heartbreak, giving her pep talks, even helping her get ready for dances when deep down he wished it were him taking her. Every boyfriend she had was a silent reminder of what Barry could never say out loud: that no one would ever love her the way he did.

Sometimes, though, he caught her looking at him with this softness in her eyes, and for a fleeting second he let himself believe she felt the same. Those moments kept him going, kept the hope alive.

One Christmas, he finally broke. Standing under the glow of the tree lights, he told Maeve the truth—that he loved her, had always loved her. She listened, kind and gentle as always, but told him she didn’t feel that way. Barry nodded, forced a smile, pretended to be fine. But deep down, he knew things weren’t that simple.

Because the bond they shared was too strong, too deep, written into every memory of their lives. And as the years passed, through every heartbreak and every moment of silence, Barry couldn’t help but wonder if one day Maeve would realize it too—that she had always loved him, even if it took her a little longer to know it.