An Open Letter of Confessions

Finally, I had the courage to say what I wanted to say to him. It was long overdue. For three years, I was unsure. I thought we had a strong friendship—so strong that whenever I told anyone we were "just friends," they would raise an eyebrow. At least for me, it was friendship. Or maybe I was just afraid of the possibility of ruining what we had. After graduation, I finally confessed. I felt confident because there was no reason for us to see each other after college anymore. Confident because after my confession, there would be nothing left unsaid. One good thing that happened was this: he was sincere and genuine. He didn't treat my confession as a joke. That's one of the things I always liked about him. He knows when it's time to have fun and when it's time to be serious. His answer was clear. He admired me as a woman, as someone he looked up to—but not in the same way I felt about him. He also told me that he was pursuing someone, and of course, that person wasn't me. Honestly, I thought our feelings were mutual. Maybe because of the way he smiled whenever our mutual friends teased us together. Maybe because he waited for me in the hallway until my laboratory class was over. Maybe because he insisted that we meet again after the long pandemic years of not seeing each other face-to-face. Maybe because he wanted me to cheer for him during his chess matches. Maybe because he would update me about the happenings in his life. Maybe because I felt like I was already a part of his family after getting to know them through video calls and voice messages. Or maybe—just maybe—I thought he liked me as more than a friend. Too many maybes. But the truth is, it was all in my head. My thoughts fed an image of him having feelings for me when, in reality, he wasn't giving mixed signals at all. I later realized that he was simply that kind, sweet, and gentlemanly. Even if I wanted to speak badly about him, I couldn't, because he genuinely isn't that kind of person. Our conversation went better than I could have asked for. I cheered for him, and his successes were never unnoticed by me. I was always congratulating him whenever he achieved something. He became a professional—a career man. As expected of someone who graduated with Latin honors. He is smart. I can guarantee that. And me? I was happy for him from the shadows while still trying to figure out what to do with my own life. Yes, I graduated too. Not as smart as him, barely surviving. I tried pursuing opportunities and jobs where I often felt I didn't belong. I failed many times while chasing my goals, trying to stay strong and move forward with life. Eventually, we lost contact for years. Not completely, though. I would still react to or comment on his posts from time to time, and he would do the same with mine. But it wasn't the same as before. And honestly, I liked it that way. Until one night, I dreamed about him. I hated that dream. I felt betrayed by my own mind. I was finally getting back on track, finally moving forward, and then my subconscious decided to bring him back. I wouldn't have minded if it had been some random dream, but it wasn't. It bothered me for almost a month. And then, once again—even though I didn't want to—I told him about it. I told him about the dream. About us being married. I completely understand if people think I'm a fool. A total i***t. Maybe even insane. I know. But I can't undo what I've already done. Maybe I found the courage because it happened through chat. I didn't have to face him in person. Then again, he responded in the same gentle and mature way he always had. And strangely, I hated him for that. I wanted him to laugh. I wanted him to treat it like a joke. I wanted him to give me a reason to hate him. Instead, I was shocked when he said he would wait because maybe he had dreamed about it too. And I thought, Oh no. I immediately told him not to think too much about it. Then, with all the confidence in the world, I said maybe it was just my subconscious missing him. Fine. Then he told me he hoped we could meet again—for a date. And no, I wasn't being delusional. He actually said that. A date. Yet I still excused myself. I told him we were both busy and that maybe, someday, we'd find the time. Yes. I said that. Because I don't know. I didn't want to look like I was begging him to look at me. But I guess I only made things worse. Later, I learned that he wasn't pursuing anyone anymore. He told me that the situation had taught him something and that he wanted to tell me everything when we finally saw each other again. Another shock. Somehow, I hated everything. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to be ungrateful for having met him during my college years. But right now, I regret everything. I don't want him to focus on me simply because I'm here—because I'm available. I hate that thought. So I told him not to think too much about anything I had said, wishing there were an undo button for all of it. At this point, I can honestly say I'm becoming a major red flag. Right now, we're just casual. I'm trying to make sure things don't become awkward between us. He told me he wants to see me. No date yet. And honestly, I'm okay with that. No pressure. In fact, I'm hoping it doesn't happen anytime soon. I want us to meet again at the right time. Because right now, I can't face him yet. Not yet.