A Story

Written Before
We Met

Some stories don't begin with a conversation.
Some begin before you understand anything at all.

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something is waiting at the end  —
I

Before Either of Us Arrived

Some begin before you're even born, in the quiet friendship of two people who refused to let life separate them, in a dream someone had and told out loud, in connections that formed before anyone thought to question them.

Even before I arrived in this world, something was already being written.

I just didn't know yet
that I was one of the characters.

And neither did you.

II

Always There

I saw her sometimes. The way you notice a star ✦, not because you went looking, but because it was simply there. Always there.

At the edges of my life. In rooms full of people and noise and ordinary afternoons that left no marks on any calendar.

She was like a song playing in another room…
one you never fully hear,
but somehow
never
forget.

III

oh.   it's you.

Then one day, I found something. A photograph. Old. Small. Almost forgotten, tucked between the pages of a life that had kept moving without explaining itself.

Just a photo of a girl.

When I found out who it was… the answer arrived quietly. No drama. No thunder.

Just a truth that rearranged something inside me so gently, I didn't even notice until it was already done.

It wasn't love yet.
It wasn't anything with a name.

It was more like
recognition.

IV

They Choose You

Then there was a day. Just an ordinary afternoon. Just the kind that disappears without a trace.

Someone said something casual. A sentence. Not a love letter. Not a confession.

Just words that landed somewhere inside me
the way a seed lands in soil.
Silent. Still. But already becoming something.

I didn't choose it.
That's what nobody tells you about feelings like this; you don't choose them.
They choose you.

And by the time you realize what's happened,
it's already too late to go back.

V

Something Only You Would Know

Moments passed between us like seasons Each one small, each one unspoken, Remembered only by me, perhaps. Left unsaid, the way real feelings often are. In every room we ever shared, Nearest to each other, yet furthest apart. Silence was the only language between us Held carefully, like something fragile. And still I kept returning to the edges of it, Returning to moments no one else even noticed. It was never a choice, really. Nothing about this ever was. All I know is, I couldn't look away. Distance came, as it always does. And life moved forward without asking permission. Rooms emptied. Seasons changed. Time kept going. And yet something in me stayed still. That something had no name. Had no explanation. It had only ever had a face.
VI

The Distance That Wasn't Geography

She went far. Her own world unfolding in a place I wasn't part of.

And I stayed here, carrying something I hadn't asked for and couldn't put down.

People think distance is measured in kilometres.
It isn't.

The real distance is this:
her, living fully.
And the gap between
knowing someone
and being known by them.

VII

Scared to Keep

I had ways to reach her. A number saved. A chat I'd opened and quietly closed more times than I'd like to admit.

But some feelings take time to become brave enough.

What if she understands completely, and still feels nothing?

So I held it.
The way you hold something
you're scared to break
and scared to keep
at the same time.

VIII

It Just Is

She's living her life right now. Fully. Completely. In ways I'm not part of.

And that's okay. Because whatever this is: it doesn't demand anything. It doesn't ask to be seen. It doesn't need to be returned to be real.

It just is.
The way some things just are.

Quietly.
Constantly.
Without asking permission.

IX

Maybe She Reads This

Maybe she never finds this. Maybe she does. Maybe she reads it and feels nothing, scrolls past it the way we scroll past most things that were meant for us.

But maybe she reads this
and something stirs.
Something quiet.
Something she can't stop thinking about
even after she puts her phone down.

Maybe she realizes
that somewhere, without even knowing,
she has been someone's quiet reason.
Someone's most remembered ordinary moment.
Someone's everything disguised as nothing.

X

A Letter

If you're reading this… I think some part of you already knew this existed. The way you know certain things without being told. I never found the words when you were near. Every time, they just disappeared. Not because I didn't care, because I cared too much to risk getting it wrong. I've carried this for a long time. In silence. In prayers. In the spaces between words when I was speaking to everyone around you, but couldn't say your name. You are not someone I simply met. You are someone I was pointed toward, long before either of us had a say in it. And I've spent years watching from a careful distance, quietly hoping the distance wouldn't always have to be so careful. I don't need you to feel what I feel. I just needed you to know that what I feel is real. That it was never nothing. That you were never just someone passing through. It was always you. It was only ever you. — Someone you might already know  🌹
Still Being Written

Some stories don't start with a conversation.
And some…
don't end with one either.

They just continue.
Quietly.
In the spaces between words.
In small moments nobody else noticed.
In a goodbye that meant more than goodbye.

I don't know if you'll ever read this.
But if you do…
you already know who you are to me.
You always did.