I sat there in the quiet hum of my room, the glow of the chat screen still lingering faintly against the night.
Our conversations replayed in my mind — her teasing, her laughter, her gentle words that somehow always found a way to slip past my walls.
I leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, questioning myself in a silence only I could hear.
“Is this real?”
“Am I just confused because it feels nice to have someone understand me?”
“Or is it… really something more?”
A thousand possibilities drifted through my thoughts.
Maybe I just liked the idea of being cared for.
Maybe I was just lonely.
Maybe… maybe I was mistaking friendship for something deeper.
But then, I remembered the way my heart would skip — not when she said something big or special — but in the small, ordinary moments.
The way she would worry about my late nights.
The way she called me “dummy” with a playful scold that somehow felt warmer than any compliment.
No, this wasn’t just friendship.
It was something gentler, something quieter — but no less powerful.
It was a feeling born not from desperation, but from genuine admiration and quiet connection.
And maybe, just maybe…
it was okay if I didn’t have all the answers yet.
Maybe feelings weren’t something you always needed to fully understand.
Maybe they were just something you were meant to feel.
I smiled to myself in the dimness of my room, a small, invisible smile that only the stars outside my window could see.
If this was love, it wasn’t the fireworks or the dramatic confessions that movies made it seem like.
It was simpler.
It was her voice at the end of a long day.
It was her name lighting up my screen.
It was knowing that somehow, somewhere along the way,
a piece of my heart had found a home in her.
