Some people leave, and the world keeps turning like nothing ever happened.
But not him.
His absence settled in the air like dust — quiet, invisible, but everywhere. The corner of the hallway where she used to glimpse him felt dimmer now. The echo of his laughter, always shared with others, felt like a ghost wandering the floor. Even the elevator ride felt heavier, as if it carried the weight of everything she never said.
But life went on. Meetings were held. Messages were sent. People laughed, moved on, and slowly forgot.
She didn't.
The moment he walked out of the building for the last time — not looking back, not knowing her eyes were clinging to the shape of him — she held herself together just long enough. Just long enough to stay seated. To keep breathing. To act like nothing inside her was unraveling.
But as soon as she arrived home, she lick herself in her room m.
She cried her heart out.
Not quietly, not gracefully — but in that helpless, aching way you do when you're mourning something that was never really yours. Her shoulders shook with every sob, her hand pressed to her mouth to keep the sound in, but the pain came pouring out anyway.
All the almosts.
All the what-ifs.
All the words she never said, and the ones she had written but never dared to give.
She cried for the version of her that once held onto hope. For the soft smiles she replayed like lullabies. For the goodbye that was never spoken, but felt like the loudest silence she had ever heard.
And when there were no more tears left, she sat there, empty and still. Tired, but lighter. Like a storm had passed through her and left behind the quiet.
After that, she carried him in smaller, quieter ways.
She whispered his name in her prayers — not asking for him to come back, but just asking for his peace. His healing. His happiness.
Sometimes, when the world got too loud, she would speak to the moon again.
"I hope he's okay," she'd say softly, like a secret.
"I hope he's smiling somewhere tonight."
And the moon, in its quiet wisdom, always listened.
There were still moments that stung. Days when she saw someone with a similar walk, or someone with a laugh like his. She would look up, hope blooming foolishly in her chest, only to have it fall gently apart again.
But she didn't resent it.
Because loving him — even from afar — had changed her.
He taught her that sometimes, the most beautiful things in life are the ones that never become ours. That sometimes, a passing soul can leave behind a light so gentle, it keeps warming us long after they're gone.
She never regretted it.
Not the waiting. Not the letters. Not the pain.
Because in all of it, she had loved. Truly. Silently. Purely.
And maybe that was enough.
Sometimes, she still took out the necklace she bought — the one she had meant to give him along with her goodbye letter. She never wore it. Never gave it away. It was just… hers now. A keepsake of the love she once carried so fiercely.
She thought about him less and less, but when she did, she smiled.
There was no bitterness in her anymore. Only a soft ache, like an old lullaby she still remembered the words to, even if she no longer sang it out loud.
At night, when the sky was clear, she would sit by her window and whisper one last thing to the moon:
"I never planned to feel this way,
Just thought you'd brighten up my day.
A simple laugh, a passing glance
Who knew I'd stumble into chance?
You weren't the type I used to chase,
But something shifted in your face.
A quiet spark, a gentle pull
Now every moment feels so full.
No grand confession, no loud start.
Just little steps that won my heart.
I didn't mean to, but it's true,
I fell in love, by accident with you."
And then, she would close her eyes and let the silence hold her.
Because though he had never known her heart, she had known hers.
The Way She Love Him Silently
And she had loved well.
She had been, once…
Enchanted.