I ate my portion — reluctantly — and carefully stepped out of the café again.
The people outside looked at me strangely. Almost disturbed.
I wondered if they were thinking that I’d completely lost my mind.
Are they right?
Wouldn’t be news to me if I’d never really had it together in the first place.
I kept telling myself I was imagining things — that I was just paranoid.
The walk to the station was accompanied by loud music and empty thoughts.
I was so absent-minded that I nearly walked past someone…
…someone I immediately recognized.
Haruka.
My best friend from school.
From childhood.
The moment I realized who was standing in front of me, I couldn’t help it:
I grinned from ear to ear like a little kid.
A sudden rush of happiness swept over me, washing away all the fear that had just held me captive — for a moment.
But — as so often — the feeling didn’t last long.
My second personality stirred.
That voice in my head that always pulls me back.
It whispered: “This is way too good to be true. Why do you think you deserve this?”
Haruka.
Her name echoed in my mind.
How could I ever forget her?
She shaped my life — in a way I can hardly put into words.
There were bad moments, sure.
But honestly, today I almost only remember the good ones.
Her smile. Her way of being.
And then — fate or whatever — she’s like me: a lesbian.
Immediately the voice in my head grew louder again.
Distrust. Doubt. Self-loathing.
I was interested in her — even back then.
And now all those old feelings were bubbling up again.
I wished I could tell her…
But apparently, she’s still hung up on feelings for her ex-girlfriend.
How am I supposed to compete with that?
I never saw myself as someone anyone would “want.”
Not as someone interesting or special in any way.
I mean, I’m selfless — sure —
but I don’t trust myself.
Confident? Not even close.
The moment I see her again, I feel small.
Invisible next to her.
I stand in her shadow — a huge, admired shadow.
She’s only a year older, but she seems so much more mature.
She knows what she wants.
Knows how to present herself.
How to dress, how to act, how to live.
And me?
I hide in oversized clothes.
Leave everything up to chance.
I gave her my number — with a quiet hope we might see each other again.
Not that I really believe anyone enjoys being around me…
I’m more the quiet friend.
The one who stays sober at parties and drives.
The one who watches out for everyone. The one who adapts.
But never truly belongs.
Still: Our time was nice.
Brief, but nice.
I went with her shopping, for nails, for talking —
and all the while, I secretly hoped she wouldn’t see the sparkle in my eyes.
That she wouldn’t notice what I felt for her.
And yet… I had the feeling my eyes revealed more
than I wanted to admit.
---
That evening, when I finally got home,
I had to take the train and bus as always —
this time later than usual, but at least with a slightly better feeling.
The entire ride I thought about her.
About Haruka.
And all the while, the voice in my head kept talking at me without pause:
“Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t. It’ll end like it always does.”
And I believed it.
Slowly.
Reluctantly.
But I believed it.
What would anyone want with someone like me anyway?
An electronics freak.
Someone who shuts herself off from
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