Time did what it always does—it moved forward, even when I didn't.
The university stayed the same. Same hallways. Same suffocating expectations. Same rankings posted like silent verdicts on who mattered and who didn't.
Only this time, your name wasn't there.
At first, it felt like relief.
No more comparisons.
No more standing one step behind you.
No more pretending I wasn't looking for you in every crowded room.
But absence has a way of becoming louder than presence.
Because even when you were gone…
you were everywhere.
In the empty chair across mine.
In the quiet pauses between lectures.
In the problems I could now solve without you—
but didn't feel like solving anymore.
I told myself I was healing.
But healing shouldn't feel this much like forgetting who you used to be.
Months passed.
I became better. Not happier—just better.
Higher scores. Sharper answers. Colder focus.
People started saying my name the way they used to say yours—with admiration, with expectation, with a kind of distance that felt more like loneliness than respect.
"Top of the class."
Funny how victory sounds so hollow when there's no one left you want to hear it from.
I saw you again on a day that didn't feel important.
No grand event. No dramatic setup.
Just rain.
The kind that makes the world smaller, quieter—like everything is being held in a single breath.
I was leaving the library when I noticed someone standing under the awning, just outside the reach of the downpour.
You looked… the same.
And not.
Still composed. Still sharp. Still the kind of person people would turn their heads for.
But your eyes—
they weren't winning anymore.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Because some distances aren't measured in steps,
but in everything that happened between them.
"Hi," you said.
Such a small word.
For something that once meant everything.
"I didn't expect to see you here," I replied.
You gave a quiet laugh. "I could say the same."
Silence followed, heavy and familiar.
Like a conversation we never finished—just paused.
"How have you been?" you asked.
The question felt almost ironic.
How do you summarize the aftermath of losing someone who still exists?
"I'm doing well," I said.
And it wasn't a lie.
It just wasn't the truth either.
You nodded, but I could tell—you noticed.
You always noticed.
"You're doing more than well," you said. "I heard about your ranking."
Of course you did.
"I guess someone had to take your place."
The words slipped out before I could soften them.
Your smile faltered.
"Is that what you think this is?" you asked quietly.
I met your eyes.
"For you?" I said. "It always was."
The rain grew heavier, filling the silence we couldn't.
"I thought about you," you said suddenly.
Not I missed you.
Not I regret it.
Just—I thought about you.
As if I were a concept.
A memory.
Something to be studied, not felt.
"I'm sure you did," I replied.
You stepped closer.
Not too close.
Never like before.
"I wasn't as happy as you think," you admitted.
There it was.
Not an apology—
but something dangerously close to it.
I tilted my head slightly. "You got everything you wanted."
Your jaw tightened.
"Not everything."
For a second—just a second—
I saw him again.
The boy who used to lean on my shoulder.
The boy who said my name like it meant something.
And it scared me.
Because I realized—
a part of me was still waiting.
"So what now?" I asked.
My voice was steady.
Even if my heart wasn't.
You hesitated.
And that hesitation told me everything.
"You said we could be friends," I continued. "Is that still what you want?"
The question hung between us, fragile and cruel.
Because we both knew—
friendship was never what we lost.
And never what we wanted.
"I don't know," you said.
Honest.
Too honest.
I smiled.
Not bitter this time.
Just… tired.
"Then figure it out," I said softly.
And before you could say anything else—
before you could reach for something we no longer knew how to hold—
I stepped into the rain.
This time, I didn't look back.
Not because I didn't want to—
but because I finally understood something I didn't before:
Loving you was never my mistake.
Waiting for you to choose me again would be.
And as the rain blurred the world into something unrecognizable,
I asked myself a different question this time—
Not was I ever your lover…
But—
will I ever stop being your almost?