Introduction

“Better to let it out than to hide it.”

They say a crush either fades or settles deep enough to grow roots. I never knew which mine would become—but I’ve known one thing for sure: her name is Sarah.

Chapter One: The Flicker in Her Eyes

It started with her silence.

I took Sarah’s hand, soft and still, and searched her eyes. Something flickered—uncertainty? Shame? Her gaze dropped before I could be sure.

“Is it true?” I asked gently. “What your mom’s colleague said?”

She didn’t answer, and I couldn’t tell whether she was embarrassed by what I’d heard—or by the fact that her mom had shared it at all. I tried to laugh it off, to warm the air between us with something silly.

“Hey, remember when you dropped that double beef burger on your lap? It was everywhere.”

Sarah groaned with laughter. “You’ll never let me live that down.”

And just like that, the awkwardness cracked. Our laughter spilled into the room like light through a window, even pulling Mrs. Brown into its warmth. It was one of those rare, untouchable moments—the kind that makes the world feel smaller and safer.

Then came the story. One of Sarah’s childhood blunders, told with nostalgic flair by Mrs. Brown. I watched Sarah listen, mortified but laughing, radiant in the glow of her past.

That’s when Charlie appeared.

“May I take your daughter on a date?” the waiter asked, bold and disarming.

The laughter faded. My smile stayed, but it wasn’t real anymore. What was this—jealousy? Dread?

Before Sarah could answer, he was whisked away by a new order, leaving a question dangling like a spark in dry grass.

We stepped into the night. The scent of coffee clung to the air like the memory of something you wanted to hold on to.

Then, Charlie reappeared beside me.

“Bro, can I get her number?”

I gave it. Just like that.

Don’t ask why. Fear. Confusion. That sinking belief that love might break more than it builds.

Back at the car, Sarah’s question cut straight. “Were you talking about me?”

My answer—sharp, defensive—was worse than a lie. Silence swallowed everything else, until Mrs. Brown pulled us from the edge.

That night, as I lay in bed, the quiet felt heavier than usual—until my phone rang.

Peter.

“I messed up,” he confessed. A moment of temptation. A fight with Shalom. A love maybe lost.

I offered what comfort I could. But deep inside, I saw the pattern. We men, too afraid to say what we want. Too eager to sabotage what we have.

Just as I closed my eyes again, my phone lit up.

Sarah.

“Why do you despise me?”

Her voice was trembling, not with rage—but with heartbreak. “Did I ask you to find me someone? Was I desperate?”

I had tried to protect my feelings by pretending they didn’t exist. But in doing so, I had hurt the only person they belonged to.

“I thought I was helping,” I said. “I see now I wasn’t.”

And then—nothing. Just silence. Then the screen: Call ended.

I stood there, the cup of coffee cooling in my hand, untouched. Its rich aroma couldn’t drown the silence Sarah had left behind.

She didn’t just hang up on a call.

She hung up on the version of me that chose fear over honesty. And I couldn’t blame her.

She liked me. Maybe even loved me, in her quiet, guarded way. And I—I never told her how I felt. I played the supportive friend, the harmless confidant. I thought it would protect us both.

Instead, I gave away her number like she was just another stranger. And in doing so, I told her—without meaning to—that I didn’t see her the way she saw me.

Maybe if I’d said something. Maybe if I’d asked. Maybe if I’d just tried.

But I didn’t.

Now all I had was the sound of her voice cracking into tears, and a blank screen that read Call ended.

I took a long sip, bitter and cold. And for the first time in a long time, the storm I’d always kept at bay broke loose—inside me.

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