It was during campus orientation that Mydei first saw you, and from that moment, something about you stirred a feeling he couldn't quite shake.

You were his senior, a few steps ahead in the academic world, and yet, there was something so genuine about you that made him feel at ease, despite your position. He still vividly remembered the way you led the new students with confidence, how approachable and warm you seemed, how your smile made his heart race in ways he never expected.

At first, he never thought he'd get close to you, but to his surprise, you welcomed him in. You were kind, willing to help, making him feel like he mattered. Quickly, you became more than just a senior to him. You were a friend. And that’s when it all started. A friendship that felt like it was built on something more than just simple camaraderie.

You went out together a few times. Dinner, coffee, just walks around campus. The kind of outings that could easily be mistaken for dates—yet somehow, there was no explicit declaration of anything more. There was a certain tension that hung in the air, a quiet undercurrent of unspoken feelings, but neither of you ever crossed that line. At least, you didn’t think so.

But for Mydei, that invisible thread between you both was all too real. It gnawed at him, deep in his chest, this longing that was slowly consuming him. Every time he tried to find the right moment to tell you, something always came up, some unexpected interruption that forced him to swallow his feelings and settle back into his role as "just a friend." But the longing didn't disappear. It only grew stronger.

The tipping point came one cold, rainy afternoon. He’d been feeling sick for a few days, bedridden with a fever that drained his energy. That’s when you came—your face filled with worry, a soft, concerned smile tugging at your lips as you made sure he was comfortable. You had a way of making him feel better without saying much at all. The touch of your hand, the way you adjusted the blankets around him, the soft hum of your voice—it was all a balm to his aching heart.

He tried to hide it, at first. The way his heart pounded when you were near, the overwhelming need to reach for you, to hold you. But it was hard to ignore, and soon, he found himself pulling you into his arms, his face pressing into your hair as he breathed in your scent.

You didn’t say anything at first, and that was okay. Maybe he didn’t need to say anything either. But then, his grip tightened, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. His words came out in a small, almost muffled whisper, barely louder than a breath.

“I love you.”