THE ALMOST CONFESSIONS
412 Words
The sky had cleared after yesterday’s rain, but inside her chest, the storm still lingered.
She hadn’t spoken to him since the library moment two days ago—the moment their hands had accidentally brushed while reaching for the same book. It was such a small thing. But small things had a way of staying with her.
Today, they were assigned to the same group in Literature class.
Her heart dropped the moment the teacher announced the names. She tried to act normal—calm, unaffected—but inside, panic stirred. They hadn’t really talked. Not since that rainy afternoon when he asked if she was okay.
Not properly.
And now they’d be working together. Alone.
After school, they met by the benches under the almond tree. A quiet spot at the edge of the school field, where the wind carried the sound of rustling leaves and distant laughter.
“You’re quiet,” he said, sitting beside her, close enough to make her pulse quicken. “I thought maybe you didn’t want to work with me.”
“It’s not that,” she replied quickly. “I just… wasn’t expecting it.”
He tilted his head slightly, watching her with that calm, unreadable look she had come to know. “You avoid me a lot.”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t.”
“You do,” he said, half-smiling. “Even now. You’re sitting like you’re ready to run.”
She looked down, hugging her notebook to her chest. “It’s not personal.”
“Feels personal.”
There was silence. The kind that says more than words ever could.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “I see the way you look at me.”
Her breath caught.
She didn’t know what to say. Every part of her wanted to deny it—but it was too late. He’d seen through her. Somehow, without her ever saying a word, he knew.
And then he added, “I look at you too, you know.”
Her heart flipped.
“What… what are we doing?” she asked finally, voice trembling.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to stop.”
For a moment, they just sat there, neither speaking. The air between them thick with all the things they hadn’t said.
He reached out, slowly, fingers brushing hers.
She didn’t pull away.
And that was the closest they’d come to a confession.
- Writer
