**Introduction:**
**Thami Jar**
- 2nd-year college student
- Commerce Department
- 21 years old
- Average student and introvert
- Quite good-looking, tall, with a good figure
**Nana Waiba**
- 2nd-year college student
- Commerce Department
- 20 years old
- Average student; the definition of a funny and charming boy; extrovert
- A cute, short, and slim boy
The story is a college love tale with a touch of heartbreak, revolving around two boys. One boy suffers from unexpressed feelings for his best friend, carrying the burden alone, while the other remains blissfully unaware of his friend's struggles. Despite being an extrovert engaged in his own happiness, he is a kind-hearted person who never wants to hurt his introverted friend. The story conveys the message that love should be shared rather than kept hidden.
**Something I Never Told: The Hidden Secret I’m Hiding Inside My Heart**
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Thami sat on the old bench beneath the jacaranda tree, watching the purple blossoms flutter to the ground like slow-falling confessions. The sun dipped low behind the college buildings, casting a golden light across the courtyard.
Nana was late again, but Thami didn’t mind. He never did.
Glancing down at his notebook, which was half-filled with doodles and lyrics, he realized it mostly contained thoughts about Nana—his best friend and his secret.
They had met in their first year, both wide-eyed and eager, always laughing, but in different ways. Nana had an energy that filled a room and made people feel seen, while Thami was content to linger in that light, even if it wasn’t his to claim.
The truth was cruelly simple: Thami loved Nana.
And Nana loved someone else.
Her name was Amahle. She was smart, sweet, and beautiful, with a laugh that made Nana lean in closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of it. Thami watched helplessly as their relationship unfolded, feeling like a door was closing inch by inch.
He told himself it was okay—that friendship was enough and that he should be grateful to be close to Nana at all.
But it hurt. Every time Nana mentioned Amahle, it felt like a wound reopening.
“Yo, sorry I’m late!” Nana’s voice snapped Thami back to the present, bright and breathless as always.
Thami looked up and smiled—a soft, aching smile. “It’s okay. I knew you’d come.”
Small part :-
Thami's prove ;
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Part One: What He'll Never Know
Thami sat on the old bench under the jacaranda tree, his fingers picking at the corner of his notebook, purple blossoms falling around him like quiet secrets. The late afternoon sun painted everything gold, and the air smelled like rain that hadn't yet fallen.
Nana was late again.
But Thami didn’t mind. He never really did—not when it was Nana. He'd wait forever if it meant seeing that crooked smile again, hearing his laugh echo through the courtyard like sunlight in sound.
He probably stopped to talk to Amahle again, Thami thought, the thought bitter and soft all at once.
He looked at the empty space beside him on the bench, and his chest ached.
Why do I do this to myself?
Thami glanced down at the sketch he’d started—two figures beneath this very tree. One was laughing, drawn in swift, bold lines. The other was unfinished, a little faded, like he hadn’t decided how to draw himself yet.
He doesn't even know. Or maybe he does, and he's just kind enough to pretend he doesn’t.
He leaned back, eyes on the canopy of purple above.
How can someone make you feel so full and so empty at the same time?
He talks about her like he talks about dreams. Like they’re bright and golden and possible. And I sit here, nodding, smiling, bleeding inside.
Thami pressed a hand to his chest.
The heart never wants to see the one it loves in pain. Mine can take this ache—but I can’t stand the thought of Nana hurting. I’d rather be invisible if it means he stays happy.
He smiles like a flower blooming in sunlight. I wonder if I could ever be the reason behind that. I wonder if I could ever be enough.
He’s beautiful. Beautiful like the sky. And like the sky, I know I’ll never touch him. He's too far above me—too free. Beyond my reach. Beyond my imagination.
He blinked back the sting in his eyes and whispered aloud, “But still… I wonder.”
That’s when he heard the familiar voice behind him.
“Yo, sorry I’m late!”
Thami quickly tucked the notebook away, his face returning to its usual calm.
“It’s okay,” he said, offering a small smile as Nana dropped beside him. “I knew you’d come.”
But deep down, part of him whispered:
One day, maybe you’ll come for me.
---
Thami sat in the corner of the library, the rhythmic sound of turning pages mixed with muffled laughter echoing through the space. He tried to focus on his notes, but his mind wandered to the conversations he could hear not far from him. Nana and Amahle were seated together, their voices intertwining in a way that made Thami’s heartache.
“Let’s grab lunch—but Amahle’s joining us,” Nana had said earlier, his smile bright, oblivious to the simmering feelings Thami was battling. Today, it is harder to be invisible. Thami could feel the weight of every passing moment, every punctuated laughter shared between them cutting deeper than the last.
As he glanced up from his books, he caught a glimpse of them outside, sitting close on the grass, sunlight casting a golden hue around their warmth. Nana’s hand brushed against Amahle’s, and she laughed, a cascade of joy that echoed in Thami’s chest like a distant thunder. Thami looked away, unable to watch another moment of the affection he longed for but could never claim.
He didn’t blame Amahle. No, she was everything anyone could want: kind, funny, smart, with a sparkle in her eye that matched Nana’s humour. They shared music tastes and movie lines, filling the gaps Thami wished he could bridge. But as he watched them, he felt like a ghost passed through a beautiful moment—there in body, but absent in spirit.
Thami stood up, feeling the dissonance between his body and his heart. “I’ll get us some drinks,” he muttered, escaping before they could ask him to join. The cafeteria was loud, a cacophony that mirrored his inner turmoil. He leaned against the counter, letting the noise wash over him as he waited for the drinks. This was supposed to be a friendship, he told himself. Just a friendship. But watching Nana with someone else made every flicker of laughter feel like a betrayal.
“Not crazy,” he’d said earlier. “It makes sense.” It was true. It was easier to not stir the pot, to let the good times roll on while he swam in silence. Thami gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white with the pressure he exerted. He wished he could reach out, wished things were different, but he’d made his choice—to remain in the shadows for fear of losing the only person he held dear.
Later that evening, Nana showed up at Thami’s flat, just like always—their haven after long days filled with shared stories and comfort. But tonight was different. Thami felt the distance more acutely, even as they joked and lounged together on the bed, the familiarity clashing with his anxious heart.
“Amahle wants to make it official,” Nana said, throwing the words out casually. “Like, proper girlfriend-boyfriend status. Crazy, huh?”
Thami’s throat tightened, the words wrapping around it like a vice. He sat rigidly at the edge of the bed, swallowing the lump rising in his throat. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated Nana’s expectant face, but Thami couldn’t meet his gaze. “It makes sense,” he replied, forcing the words, but each one felt heavy as lead.
“Are you okay?” Nana’s concern was palpable, spreading through the room as if it were another person. “You’ve been quieter than usual.”
Thami hesitated, caught in a web of truths he was afraid to unravel. This was it—the moment he could expose his heart, strip away the silence that had settled between them like an unwelcome guest. But when he finally turned, the trust and warmth in Nana's eyes disarmed him completely. “I’m just tired,” he muttered, a lie that felt like a punishment.
“Big test coming up,” he added, watching Nana smile but feeling only emptiness inside. Best friend. The title cut deeper now, a reminder of the line he couldn’t cross.
As the night wore on and Nana fell asleep beside him, Thami lay there, tracing the contours of his best friend’s face with his eyes. The rhythm of Nana’s breathing was a haunting melody, and with every inhale, Thami felt the ache of unexpressed love swirl within him, longing to escape.
“I love you,” he whispered into the quiet room, but Nana remained blissfully unaware, lost in dreams of someone else. Just words caught in the silence.
Thami woke the next morning with the remnants of a haunting dream etched in his mind. He had been chasing Nana down a road that seemed to stretch infinitely, the sky a murky grey that muddied their connection. No matter how loudly he called, Nana walked on, laughing at something Thami couldn’t understand.
There had always been a growing space between them in these dreams—a chasm filled with unspoken confessions, lingering touches, and unshared moments. Thami could only watch as the boy he loved drifted away, an ever-elusive figure that brought him both joy and despair.
That morning, the unease resurfaced as he sat beside Nana in their usual classroom. Everything appeared normal, the friendly banter and lightweight joking creating an illusion of comfort, yet beneath it all lay the undulating tension. Thami laughed when appropriate and nodded when he was supposed to, but the weight in his chest felt heavier, constricting—heavy like a boulder he couldn’t displace.
The space was still there—the silence deepening like an unseen rift. It wasn’t just physical; it was profound and unsettling, a void that screamed louder than any words. With every glance Nana cast toward Amahle, every mention of her name, Thami felt that distance widen, leaving him stranded in a world-coloured grey.
After class, he grabbed his notebook and scribbled down his thoughts as though inscribing them could somehow provide clarity:
“There’s space between us now. Not one you can see. But I feel it. In how long it takes you to reply. In how your eyes drift elsewhere—even when I’m beside you. I miss you. Even when you’re right here.”
He stared at the words, the truth washing over him like a wave before crashing onto the shore. “I’d rather suffer quietly… than risk losing the only part of you I still get to keep.” The weight of silence hung heavily around him, but he remained bound to it.
It was this fear that held him captive, as the barrier grew deeper. What could he say to bridge that space? How could he reveal the love that pulsed just beneath the surface?
Amidst the confusing spiral, one thing remained clear: no matter where Nana’s heart wandered, it always took Thami along for the ride. The two of them were forever wrapped in a bond stronger than words, yet it thrived in the shadows of unspoken feelings. And whether or not he could find the strength to step into the light remained uncertain.
Still, the love was there—a bittersweet ache, cradled against the backdrop of their friendship, waiting to either blossom or wither away in that vulnerable space between them.
Small part :-
Excerpt from Thami’s Diary: “The Unfinished Things”
I believe my entire notebook is a tribute to you.
Every page echoes your laughter, a melody that dances through my mind.
Every line captures the warmth of your smile, radiating like sunlight breaking through the clouds.
And every blank space between my words—it's filled with the silence I carried when I longed to whisper the words, "I love you."
I've penned stories where we lie beneath a tapestry of stars, our fingers entwined, finally baring our souls and speaking the truths we’ve kept locked away in our hearts.
I’ve crafted poems that bleed with longing—each one an attempt to encapsulate the depth of your eyes, the sweet lilt of your voice, the comfort of your presence. Yet, none of them come close. They never will.
Once, I even composed a song.
The chorus sang: “You’re the wish I whisper, the fire I hesitated to touch. You’re the dream that slips away just as I awaken.”
But I never had the courage to sing it.
It was a song destined for someone who would never hear its haunting notes.
My love for you mirrors this diary—filled with fragments left unfinished, words unread, and a quiet heartache that slowly unravels.
The weeks slipped by like slow-moving clouds—constant yet heavy. Thami found himself smiling less, laughter fading from his days. The vibrant energy that once coursed through him was now dulled, muted by an unwelcome weight that settled into his chest. It was as if the world around him had come to a standstill, devoid of brightness and warmth. No one seemed to notice, not even Nana, who was too consumed with his plans for the weekend and the exhilarating thrill of being with Amahle.
Amahle was everything Thami felt he was not—sociable, radiant, effortlessly charming. She brought out a side of Nana that Thami had always treasured but now felt painfully excluded from. Each time he’d subtly nudge his way into their conversations, their laughter would ring through the air, a joyous symphony that left him feeling like a ghost—a distant echo of the friend he once was.
To escape the mounting pain of watching Nana drift further away from him, Thami began to withdraw himself completely. It started subtly—skipping dinners, opting out of group hangouts. Excuses piled up, transforming what used to be easily shared moments into solitary escapes. The comfortable silence he once shared with Nana became a cold chasm, filled with unspoken words and heavy anticipation.
One evening, the need for solitude became unbearable. Thami retreated to the rooftop of the dorm, a place that used to be a sanctuary filled with laughter and deep conversations. He wore Nana’s oversized hoodie, a remnant of shared moments clinging to him like a lifeline. Its familiar scent wrapped around him warmly, igniting feelings he could no longer suppress. He clutched it tightly, fighting back waves of longing and regret.
As he leaned against the ledge, staring out at the city beneath a dusky sky, he felt the weight of his emotions shifting. He wished for clarity but was met only with confusion. The world below moved in a chaotic dance, while he remained frozen, trapped in his own thoughts.
Footsteps approached, breaking the silence. “Thought I’d find you here,” came Nana’s voice, calm and familiar as he stepped into the dim light. Thami faced away, unwilling to confront the reality that had settled between them like an uninvited guest.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Nana stated, a hint of concern threading through his words, drawing Thami’s attention in spite of himself.
Thami exhaled slowly, a deep breath that felt heavy in his chest. “You’re happy. That’s good. But…” The words fell out like fragile glass, shattering in the air around them.
“Why does it feel like I’m being punished for it?” Nana asked, brows knitted in confusion.
Thami felt his heart race, echoing a pain he had buried far too long. “I’m not mad; I’m just tired of pretending,” he admitted, his voice strained.
Nana’s brow furrowed deeper, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “Pretending?”
“It doesn’t matter!” Thami snapped, irritation mixing with frustration as tension rose between them.
“Yes, it does,” Nana insisted, stepping closer, his own emotions spilling into the space.
The silence hung heavily, each second stretching into eternity until Thami finally whispered, “You really don’t see it, do you?”
“See what?” Nana asked, confusion mingling with fear as he searched Thami’s face for answers.
“That I love you, Nana. I’ve always loved you, and now… now you’re with her.”
Nana paled, the color draining from his face as if Thami had struck him. Words failed him, and Thami turned away, feeling the sting of vulnerability. "I'm not asking for anything, just… I can’t pretend anymore," he confessed, his voice cracking slightly.
The wind whistled through the empty space between them, amplifying the silence that threatened to drown them both. Thami could almost hear his heart break as he faced the reality of his confession.
Nana stepped back, a whirlwind of shock surging within him. “Thami... I had no idea,” he finally managed, the raw honesty of his voice cutting through the heaviness of the moment.
“I know,” Thami replied, a sad smile breaking through. “That’s the hardest part.”
He turned to walk away, hoodie still clutched tightly around him as if it provided some semblance of comfort. The sky darkened around him, mirroring the shadows that now felt all-consuming. Behind him, Nana stood at a crossroads, his expression a mixture of confusion, regret, and disbelief, unwilling to move.
The warmth of the moment left Thami feeling hollow. He descended the stairs, each step heavy with the weight of unspoken love and fractured friendship. He could still hear Nana’s footsteps echoing behind him, a constant reminder of what he had just shared—what he had lost. In the solitude of his room, he sank onto his bed, replaying the scene over and over again in his mind, emotions swirling in a chaotic frenzy.
As dawn approached, casting a pale light through his window, Thami realized that change was inevitable. Love wasn’t something that could simply be bottled up and hidden away. The truth would always seep through the cracks, and while it might hurt to admit, it was also a release. He remembered the warmth of their shared moments, the laughter, and the bond they had formed.
But now, that bond felt forever altered. The longings still lingered within him like echoes, twisting in his gut as he thought of Nana and Amahle. A bitter taste of longing remained, yet beneath it all, he felt a flicker of hope.
Perhaps, just perhaps, there would be a way to navigate through this tangled web of emotions. Perhaps one day, they could find their way back to each other, even if it meant redefining their relationship. As the sun rose higher, spilling golden light into his room, Thami wiped his tears away and resolved to face whatever came next with honesty and courage.
The world outside seemed vibrant and alive, waiting for him, for both of them—a canvas yet to be painted anew.
Small part :-
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Insert Scene: What the Heart Endures
Thami sat alone on the rooftop one night, the stars scattered across the sky like dreams too far to reach. He opened his notebook, the one he never showed anyone—not even Nana. And he began to write.
“They say the heart never wants to see the one it loves in pain. I believe that. Because mine—though bruised, though breaking—can endure the ache of loving you from afar. But it can’t endure your sadness.”
“You smile like a flower in spring, and sometimes I wonder—can someone like me ever be the reason for that smile?”
“You’re beautiful, Nana. Beautiful like the sky. And just like the sky, I know I can never touch you. You’re too far. Too free. Beyond imagination.”
“Still, I wonder… can I ever match up to someone like you?”
He closed the notebook softly and let the wind turn the pages.
Some feelings didn’t ask for answers.
They just needed to be felt.
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