When Alex first touched my hands there was nothing dramatic about it, there was no fireworks or background music like in the movies. It was just the two of us sitting on the floor of his apartment, a greasy pizza box between us, and we were arguing about whether or not the world would be better if social media didn’t exist.
“It’s literally ruining everyone’s brain” I said, waving my slice of pizza in the air
“And yet you’re on it every day” he said, stealing one of my pepperonis
“That’s different. I’m just…” I gestured too wide, that I knocked my soda can down. The liquid spread across the carpet in a dark, fizzy stream.
“Damn it” I scrambled for napkins, but before I could reach it, his hand closed over mine.
“Relax,” he said, laughing “It’s just a carpet. Carpet forgives everything” his hand stayed on mine for few seconds too long and my stomach dropped. I pulled back quickly, reaching for the napkin “Not if it smells like coke for eternity” we both laugh.
“Then my apartment will always smell like your mess” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just undone me with that stupid touch.
Nothing was meant to and could possibly happen between me and Alex. I had a boyfriend and he was the kind of boyfriend parent liked – had a steady job, a nice smile, the kind of man who showed up on time and never raised his voice. And Alex was the opposite. Alex lived in a constant half-chaos life: mismatched socks, unwatered plants and a desk covered in half-filled notebooks. But he listened. God, did he listen. He would tilt his head and let me ramble for long, but he always understood and heard everything I was saying.
We were friends in that dangerous exhilarating way where ‘just friends’ meant staying up unti 3am on the phone, swapping music links, or sending photos of the same moon from different parts of the city. And somewhere between the jokes, long walk and the stupid debates about whether pineapple belonged on pizza, we fell into a space that wasn’t friendship anymore, but wasn’t love either. Something in-between.
We were on the phone one night, at 2am, when he asked “You ever feel like you’re alive, but not really living?”
“All the time” I whispered, while lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark. There was silence for a while, then he said “That’s why I talk to you. You… make me feel like I’m actually here”. I wanted to say me too but instead, I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.
We built our closeness and feelings out of little moments. Like the afternoon we walked past a street musician playing an old guitar, and he suddenly grabbed my hand. “Dance with me” he grinned
“In public? Are you insane?”
“Yes” He spun me anyway, his hand was warm on my waist and for one dizzy second, the whole world blurred.
Or the night I told him something I had never told anyone, how I stayed in my relationship out of fear of being alone. He wasn’t surprised but neither did he judge me. He just looked at me for a long time and said “You deserve more than ‘not being enough’” His voice cracked a little when he said it.
We never crossed the line though, not once. One evening, we sat on his couch with a movie playing, the kind neither of us was really watching. Our shoulders brushed and my heart started hammering.
“Alex” I said, my voice barely above the sound of the Tv “Yeah?” he turned his head, he was so close to me that I could see the faint freckles across his nose. I hesitated. My lips parted but nothing came out. I shook my head “Nothing”
He stared me for a moment, as if he was waiting for me to say the thing he already knew. When I didn’t, he leaned back with a sign “Okay” he said softly. That ‘Okay’ broke me.
Eventually, it unraveled. He got a job offer in another city and I stayed where I was. On his last night, we met at the café we always visit, we sat opposite from each other in a silence too loud to ignore.
“So this is it” I said, trying to sound light
“Guess so” he pushed his coffee cup in circles, not looking at me.
“You’ll love it there” I added “New people, new chances…”
“Don’t” he cut in, then he finally met my eyes “Don’t try to make this easier for me”
My chest ached “I do not know what you want me to say”
“Nothing” he murmured. Then after a pause, he said “Everything”
I wanted to reach across the table and then tell him I have loved him in a secret and suffocating way for months. Instead, I picked at the sleeve of my sweater and said “Take care of yourself, okay?”
He gave me that half-smile I knew too well “Always. You too” when he hugged me goodbye, his arms lingered around me long enough for me to realize that this was the closest we would every get to a kiss.
It’s been three years. I stayed with my safe and steady boyfriend. Alex stayed gone. But sometimes, when I hear the faint chords of a street guitar or see soda stain a carpet, or feel my buzz late at night, I think of him. I think of what we never said to each other and the line we never crossed. And I wonder if that silence was of bravery or the worst kind of cowardice.
Alex and I liked each other. More than liked, maybe even loved each other. But not all stories end with forever, some just end.
Image was generated using META AI
