Back in high school, I used to sit in the second row by the window. Not because I liked the view, but because it helped me disappear. I was the kind of student teachers liked and people forgot. Quiet, predictable, easy to overlook.
That’s where I first saw her.
She was sitting a few benches ahead, leaning slightly toward her friend, laughing about something I couldn’t hear. It wasn’t loud, not the kind that fills a room. It was soft, like it belonged to her and no one else. I remember thinking it was nothing. Just a face in a crowded classroom. Just another girl.
I told myself it was a crush.
But it didn’t stay small.
Every day, I started noticing things I shouldn’t have. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was focused. The way her handwriting leaned a little to the right. The way she looked out the window when she thought no one was watching. My chest would tighten for no reason, my heartbeat slightly off whenever she walked past me.
I tried to ignore it. Buried myself in books, in formulas, in anything that made sense. Numbers don’t change. People do.
Then one day, I saw her with him.
He was standing too close. His hand brushed against her arm like it belonged there. Something inside me snapped in a way I didn’t understand. For a second, it wasn’t just anger. It was something darker, something sharp and ugly. I remember thinking how easy it would be to make him stop. How easy it would be to remove that hand.
And then, just as quickly, another voice cut through.
She’s not yours.
That thought stayed. It was quiet, but it was stronger than everything else. I stepped back. I looked away. I reminded myself that wanting something doesn’t make it yours.
A few days later, I found out he was her boyfriend.
That should have ended it.
And I tried to let it end. I told myself I wasn’t the kind of person who takes what belongs to someone else. I told myself this was just a phase, something that would fade with time.
It didn’t.
Years passed. Life moved on. High school ended.
And then, somehow, we ended up in the same university.
I saw her again on the first week. Different place, different people, but she was still the same. Or maybe I was the one who never changed. The moment I saw her, it came back. Not like before. Worse.
It wasn’t just a crush anymore. It felt like something that had been waiting.
She was still bright. Still surrounded by people. Still out of reach.
I tried talking to her once. Just once. My voice didn’t feel like mine. She smiled politely, the kind of smile you give a stranger you’ll forget later. I realized then how different we were.
She felt like something untouched.
And I knew what I was.
There are people who ruin things. Even when they don’t mean to. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve been on the receiving end of it. People leave. People change. People break what they once cared about.
I couldn’t risk becoming that for her.
So I stayed where I belonged. In the background. Close enough to see, far enough to not matter.
She still had a life. People around her. Laughter that didn’t include me.
I noticed things she didn’t.
The loose wire near the stairs she almost stepped on. The bike that lost control too close to the sidewalk. The times someone followed her a little too long at night before deciding not to.
She never knew.
Or maybe she did.
Sometimes, she would pause for a second, like she felt something shift in the air. Like she almost turned around. But she never did. Or if she did, her eyes passed right through me.
I think that’s better.
Because if she ever really saw me, she might realize how long I’ve been there. How much I’ve noticed. How close I’ve been without existing in her world.
And that wouldn’t be right.
She deserves a life that isn’t touched by something like me.
So I keep my distance.
I watch.
I make sure nothing happens.
And when she laughs, when she walks forward without looking back, I remind myself of the only truth that ever mattered.
She was never mine.
