When Friendship Marries Love

5 Years Ago (2)

Laura

—I said yes to a man who doesn’t love me. But he’s the first one who didn’t lie about it.—

The cemetery was quiet, except for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. I stood in front of Alex’s grave, clutching a bouquet of lilies—his favorite. The cold air nipped at my cheeks, but I barely noticed. My fingers traced the letters of his name etched into the stone as tears blurred my vision.

“David proposed,” I whispered, my voice cracking. I let out a shaky laugh. “Not the romantic kind of proposal, of course. You know him—practical, straightforward. He just looked at me and said, ‘Laura, you deserve someone steady. I don’t know if I’ll ever be the man you dream of, but I can be someone you can count on. What do you say we build something together in this imperfect world?’”

I paused, brushing away a tear. “I said yes, Alex. Can you believe it? I said yes to a man who told me upfront he doesn’t love me.” My voice faltered, and I sank to my knees, the cold seeping through my coat. “I don’t know if I made the right choice. I mean, David’s a good man, but he’s not… he’s not you. No one ever loved me the way you did. You made me feel like I mattered, like I wasn’t invisible.”

The ache in my chest deepened. “I miss you so much. You were the only one who truly cared about me, Alex. No one else ever did.”

Until I was 14, I thought I had a perfect family. My parents were hard-working blue-collar heroes who poured everything they had into giving us a better life. Mom had big dreams for me—I’d be the first doctor in the family. Dad? He loved to hear me play the piano. They’d sit together after long shifts, tired but proud, listening to me play. Alex would clap the loudest, his little face lighting up with joy.

But everything changed when Alex was diagnosed with SMA type 3. He was only eight. Suddenly, our happy family shattered under the weight of hospital bills, experimental treatments, and the desperate hope that somehow, we could fix him. My parents worked themselves to the bone, but it was never enough.

They wanted me to quit school and help. And I did—tutoring kids, giving piano lessons, anything to ease the burden. That’s how I met Ryan.

Ryan was my classmate, the boy every girl in school dreamed about. He was charming, popular, and effortlessly confident. I had a secret crush on him, but I never said a word. How could I? I was just the quiet girl working two jobs to keep her family afloat.

Ryan figured it out, though. He’d smile at me in that infuriatingly knowing way, leaning a little too close when I helped him with his assignments. “You’re too serious, Laura,” he’d say, his voice low and teasing. “You should let loose a little.”

Once, after I spent hours helping him study for a test, he leaned in and brushed a strand of hair from my face. “You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re not stressing out about school.” My heart raced, but before I could respond, he grinned and added, “Too bad I’m not really into the brainy type.”

I laughed it off like it didn’t hurt, but it did. Ryan never promised me anything, never explicitly led me on, but his little comments, his closeness—they felt like tiny, cruel games. After that, I learned to guard my heart.

When I finally got into the University of Michigan for pre-med, I was determined to leave him behind. But somehow, Ryan ended up at the same school. I avoided him, focused on my studies, and pushed past the lingering sting of unrequited affection. By the time I left for Johns Hopkins to pursue neurology, I had trained myself to believe that love was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

I didn’t need another Ryan in my life. I needed someone who showed up—and stayed.

Now, standing at Alex’s grave, I felt the weight of those lessons pressing down on me. But David… he was different. He didn’t play games, and he didn’t make empty promises. He didn’t love me, but at least he was honest about it.

And yet, there was that moment at the cemetery when he’d asked me out, his voice steady but vulnerable: “What do you say we build something together in this imperfect world?”

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t the kind of proposal I’d dreamed about as a girl. But it was real.

I closed my eyes, trying to picture a future with him. Could I make him fall in love with me? Could I build something meaningful out of this fragile arrangement? Or was I just fooling myself, hoping for something that could never be?

I kissed my fingers and pressed them to Alex’s gravestone. “I’ll try, Alex. I’ll try to make this work. But if it all falls apart, at least I’ll know I gave it everything I had.”

With that, I stood up, the lilies trembling in my hand, and walked away, carrying the fragile weight of both hope and doubt.

What I didn’t know then was that David was already carrying something heavier.