He said her name today.
Not in a casual way.Not like he was telling me about someone he just met.But with that quiet tone—the one people use when they're starting to fall.
I knew before he said it.I saw it in his eyes.
That sparkle.The one I always hoped would be for me.
He told me she makes him feel calm. That she's kind and soft-spoken. That being around her feels easy.And I nodded, like a good friend should. I smiled, even as something inside me cracked open a little more.
I didn't hate her.
I couldn't.How could I hate someone for being what he wants?For doing what I could never bring myself to do—speak first, reach out, ask for more?
But it still hurt.Because while he's talking about falling in love, I'm quietly gathering the pieces of everything I never said.
I wanted to scream,"It's me. It's always been me."But instead I just asked,
"What's her name?"
And when he told me,I carved it into my memory.Right next to all the moments I never got to have.