It wasn't just that Sophia enjoyed being around Daniel — she actually needed to be there.
She kept telling herself it was because he was entertaining to watch — the way he chatted, laughed, and moved through life as if it all came easily to him. He had this effortless charm and a magnetic energy that drew everyone in. He could stroll into a room full of strangers and walk out with a bunch of new friends. That confidence was something she found fascinating in a way she couldn't quite put into words.
But underneath it all, she understood the reality: she simply wanted to be close to him.
Not for his jokes or his stories, and certainly not just to hear others laugh.
Just… him.
The sound of his voice.
The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.
How he didn't seem to notice just how much she observed him.
So, whenever he crashed at their place during college breaks, she made it a point to stay nearby — quietly folding his laundry, refilling his coffee without him having to ask, or tidying up his messes without a single complaint.
It wasn't that she was out to impress him — okay, maybe a little.
But more than that, it was the joy she felt in doing things for him. It made her feel connected to him, even in the tiniest of ways. She'd find herself casually checking if his door was ajar whenever she walked by. She'd hang around the kitchen when he was brewing coffee, hoping he'd throw her a question — anything — just so they could chat.
And every time he acknowledged her, even in the smallest way, her heart would do a goofy little flip.
"Soph, you don't have to do that," he'd say sometimes, catching her wiping the crumbs off the table after his meals.
She'd shrug, trying to act nonchalant. "I'm already up."
He'd flash that smile, ruffle her hair playfully, and then walk off.
And she'd stand there for a full minute afterward, heart racing, replaying that touch as if it meant something.
Because to her, it did.
To her, every brush of his fingers on her shoulder, every time he called her name, every glance he sent her — it all mattered.
Even if he wasn't aware of it.
Sometimes Nathan would tease her about it.
"You're like his little shadow," he'd say, nudging her lightly. "You're always trailing after him."
She'd laugh it off. Smile. Roll her eyes.
But deep down?
She didn't want to be his shadow.
She longed to be someone he truly noticed — really noticed.
Someone who belonged in his world, not just on the outskirts.
But instead, every time she tried to catch his attention, he'd say things like, "Since when did you get into math?" or "You've gotten smarter, Soph."
Never, "You've become beautiful."
Never, "I can see how much you've changed."
Just… "You've gotten smarter."
Still, she kept showing up.
At breakfast, offering to whip up his favorite pancakes — even if she burnt a few and pretended it was "a learning experience."
At the library, acting like she needed help with studying when she didn't — just so she could be next to him and pretend she wasn't soaking up every word he said.
At Nathan's apartment, tidying up before he got there — making sure his favorite mug was clean, his coat hung neatly by the door, and his go-to snacks were easy to grab.
Daniel never mentioned any of it.
Never thanked her.
Just flashed that easy smile of his and said, "You're too good to us, Soph."
She hated that nickname.
Not because it was cute.
But because it reminded her that to him, she was still just Nathan's little sister.
That label had followed her for years like a tag she couldn't peel away — the girl who tagged along, the one who wasn't meant to occupy the same space as the rest of them.
Yet, she kept showing up anyway.
Even after he left again for school, she didn't stop doing the same things — folding his hoodies, leaving snacks on the counter, cleaning up after him.
She knew it was silly.
She wasn't his maid.
She wasn't his servant.
She was just… Sophia.
Which was exactly the problem.
Her best friend Lena once caught her gazing at a photo of Daniel on Nathan's phone and raised an eyebrow.
"You're never going to tell him, are you?"
Sophia shook her head slowly, her throat feeling tight. "He doesn't see me that way."
Lena sighed, crossing her arms. "Then maybe you should stop acting like you're waiting for him."
But Sophia couldn't explain it.
It wasn't that she was waiting.
It was that she truly wanted to be seen.
And until that happened, she wasn't ready to stop hoping.
She wasn't prepared to give up on the possibility that maybe — just maybe — one day, he'd look at her the way he looked at other girls.
Not as a kid.
Not just as Nathan's sister.
But as someone worth recognizing.
Worth remembering.
Worth wanting.
Until that day came, she'd keep showing up.
Keep making pancakes.
Keep pretending it didn't bother her when he called her Soph like it was nothing.
Like she was nothing.
But it wasn't nothing for her.
It was everything.
One afternoon, while cleaning up after lunch, she found herself alone in the kitchen with him. He was drying dishes, and she was folding napkins, the silence between them feeling soft and unfamiliar.
"You okay?" he asked, glancing over.
She blinked. "Yeah."
"You've been pretty quiet today."
"I'm always quiet," she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.
He chuckled. "Not when you're arguing with Nathan."
She smiled a little, but it faded quickly.
She wished she could tell him. Just once, say the words aloud so he couldn't ignore them.
But what if he laughed?
What if he changed how he treated her — or worse, completely stopped treating her like family?
She couldn't risk it.
So instead, she whispered, "I just… like listening to you talk."
Daniel paused mid-wipe, locking eyes with her for a beat too long.
Then he smiled — soft and thoughtful.
"You know," he said slowly, "you don't always have to wait for people to notice you."
Her breath caught.
Did he know?
Had he seen the way she looked at him?
Before she could ask, he added, "You should speak up more. You've got a good voice."
And just like that, the moment slipped away.
Sophia swallowed hard, nodding as she turned away before he could see the tears welling up in her eyes.
Because yes.
Maybe she did have a voice.
But would he ever really listen?
Would he ever truly hear her?
She wasn't sure.
All she knew was that no matter how many times she told herself to move on, to forget him, to stop waiting — she couldn't.
Because loving Daniel Harper wasn't a choice she made.
It was just something she lived with.
Quietly.
Deeply.
Hopelessly.
And no amount of logic or reason could change that.