is this all we can reach?

Prologue

Everyone sees it.

The way he waits for me without realizing he's doing it.
The way his eyes search for mine in every room.
The way his hand stays on my back a second too long.

Everyone sees it.

Everyone but me.

Because if I admit what they see, I'd have to admit how badly I want it to be true.

We blur lines we promised not to cross. We talk like we're more than friends, touch like we're already something else, care like there's history written between our fingers. When people ask what we are, he laughs and says, "It's complicated."

I nod like that doesn't hurt.

Some nights he tells me I'm the only one who understands him. Some mornings he disappears like none of it mattered. He pulls me close when the world feels heavy, then steps back the moment it feels real.

And I let him.

Because I'm afraid that asking for more will make me lose even this.

They say love isn't supposed to be confusing.

But this feels like standing at the edge of something beautiful and being too afraid to jump — afraid that if I reach any further, I'll fall alone.

So I pretend not to notice the way he watches me when I laugh.
I pretend his jealousy means nothing.
I pretend that his silence doesn't echo in my chest.

I tell myself I'm overthinking.

That maybe I want it too much.

Yet every time our fingers brush, my heart reacts like it already knows the truth — one I refuse to name.

Because hope is dangerous--painful even.

And loving him feels like slowly bleeding from a wound no one else can see.

Still, I stay.

Waiting in the in-between.
Living off almosts.
Clinging to moments that feel like promises but sound like nothing.

And in the quiet hours, when denial finally cracks, the same question breaks through—

Is this all we can reach?

Or am I just too afraid to admit that I've already fallen...
and he's been holding me this whole time without ever calling it love?