Lina kept a journal not because she liked writing, but because it was the only place her truth didn’t sound ridiculous. On its pages, she could say all the things she’d never dare speak aloud—the confessions, the dreams, the half-lies she told herself when the silence got too heavy.
It was early morning. The sun hadn't quite broken through the clouds yet, and her apartment still wore shadows like a second skin. Lina sat curled on the armchair by the window, her knees pulled to her chest and the old, soft-spined journal balanced on a pillow across her lap.
She picked up the pen, stared at the blank page, and began to write:
Dear Ethan,
I know you’ll never read this. You’re not supposed to. That’s the only reason I can say this out loud, even if it’s just on paper.
I love you.
I don’t know when it started. Maybe it was the night you stayed up to help me build that stupid bookshelf I couldn’t figure out, or when you brought me soup and Tylenol after I got the flu. Maybe it was all those times you remembered things I forgot I’d even said—like how I hate raisins or how the sound of thunderstorms calms me down.
Maybe it wasn’t a moment. Maybe it was a slow becoming.
And now I can’t un-become it.
She paused, staring at the words, her heart knocking quietly against her ribs. She didn't cry. Not anymore. The ache had settled into something duller, something she could carry without breaking—but it was still there, a weight she never quite put down.
The page filled with more words—quiet ones, brave ones, hopeless ones.
Lina flipped to a new page and began another entry, not addressed to him this time, but to herself:
Stop waiting. Stop hoping. Stop wondering if maybe he feels it too.
He chose her. That is not your fault.
Love shouldn’t feel like swallowing glass.Let go, even if it hurts.
She set the journal aside after that, pressing her fingertips to her temple as if she could quiet the noise inside her head by touch alone.
A soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.
Eliza.
Her roommate peeked in, holding two mugs of coffee. “I made that overly sweet hazelnut crap you like.”
Lina smiled faintly. “You mean the perfect drink.”
Eliza walked in and handed her the mug. “You’ve been extra quiet lately.”
“I like quiet,” Lina said.
“Lina…” Eliza sat across from her on the couch. “You don’t have to pretend.”
Lina sipped her coffee. “Pretend what?”
Eliza set her mug down and tilted her head, the way she always did when she was about to say something gentle but true. “I’ve known you for four years. You get that look when you’re holding something in.”
Lina looked away.
“I saw you at the party,” Eliza continued. “And I saw the way you looked at him. At Ethan.”
The silence stretched between them, fragile and full.
Lina swallowed hard. “Don’t.”
“Lina,” Eliza’s voice softened, “are you in love with him?”
It was the question she’d dodged a thousand times. One she’d thrown into the void of unsent letters and unanswered prayers. One she’d hoped no one would ask because she didn’t want to hear the answer aloud.
Lina stared down at her mug. “I think I always have been.”
Eliza reached across and gently touched her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Lina said with a hollow laugh.
“No, but it’s not yours either.”
Lina leaned her head against the windowpane, the glass cool against her skin. “He doesn’t know. I mean… I don’t think he does. And even if he did, it wouldn’t matter.”
“He’s with Mira.”
Lina nodded slowly. “And she’s… perfect. Kind. Smart. She makes him happy.”
“But he cares about you too,” Eliza said carefully.
Lina’s voice was barely a whisper. “Not in the way I want.”
And that was the truth. Ethan cared. He always had. But it was the kind of care that warmed her on cold days and wrecked her on the inside. The kind that was just close enough to feel like love, but never quite.
“You know you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Eliza said. “Letting your heart live in a place where it keeps getting bruised.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you?”
Lina closed her eyes. “Because when I’m with him… it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to being seen.”
The room fell silent after that. No one knew what to say.
Eventually, Eliza rose and gave her shoulder a soft squeeze. “Write the letters. Cry if you need to. But please, don’t forget there’s a life waiting outside of this.”
Lina nodded, a lump in her throat too heavy to speak past.
After Eliza left, Lina reached for her journal again.
Dear Me,
One day, you’ll look back and this won’t hurt the same. One day, you’ll wake up and realize you deserve to be chosen—fully, freely, and without hesitation. Not because someone cares out of habit. But because they can’t imagine life without you.
Hold on for that day.
Until then, keep breathing.
