Unspoken Ties

Maybe tomorrow

Dear diary,

I used to think that love was supposed to feel like fireworks - loud, explosive ,full of light. But with Ava,it's like rain. Gentle, quiet, falling slow but soaking through everything.

We haven't talked since the day she gave me that folded paper. The one I've now read more than twenty,each word craved into my memory. "I think of you too," She wrote,and my world hasn't been the Same. But now the silence between us is growing heavy. I see her in the hallway, brushing shoulders with boys who make too many jokes. I hear her laughter and I wonder if it's real,or if she's using it to hide like a do.

Today,she looked at me across the courtyard. Just a glance. Just one second. But it felt like a tether pulling tight between us. She didn't smile. I didn't either. We're Both trying to figure out how to be brave.

Sometimes I wonder if we missed our moment.

I've started writing poems again. Not good ones. Mostly lines that come to me in the dark.

"Your name tastes like honesty,and your silence,like fear."

Maybe it's dumb. But it's all I have. Mom came into my room while I was scribbling in my notebook and asked if I was writing about "that boy" again. I laughed. I said yes. it's easier than telling the truth. That the things breaking me open isn't a boy- it's a girl with moonlight eyes and a fear she's never allowed to say out loud.

I wish I could talk to someone. But when you grow up with a father who only speaks in rules and silence,you learn to keep things locked inside. He still hasn't looked me in the eye since the parents- teacher meeting. He keeps calling me "girl" like it's a curse. Like softness is a weakness. Like love makes me less.

It doesn't.

I saw ava at the edge of the football field after school. Her friends were loud, tossing bags and teasing each other. she stood apart, staring at the sky. I watched her for a while before leaving. Maybe tomorrow I'll walk over. Maybe I won't.

We're all trying to survive high school without shattering.

But I want more than survival. I want a moment that's real. A love that doesn't hide. A breath that feels like her's.

Maybe tomorrow.

Love,me.

Dear diary,

I couldn't sleep again. Ava showed up in my dreams- not the way she looks now, quiet and careful. But the way she used to be last spring, before it all got complicated. She had flowers In her hair and she held my wrist in a way that said,"I see you. I want to see all of you."

I woke up sweating, half sad, half happy. I don't remember the sound of my father's voice. just the sound of my mom crying on the balcony,late at night,when she thinks I'm a sleep.

In school,Ava sat three rows behind me in history. I couldn't turn around. But I knew she was there. Like a pulse. Like gravity.

During lunch,I skipped the cafeteria and walked behind the gym where no one goes. I sat my back against the wall and wrote another poem:

"She walks like a prayer I don't know how to say,Eyes like unfinished thoughts. I keep waiting for her to notice That I'm always looking."

I don't think I'm scared of loving her. I think I'm scared of what happens when I do.

Later, while I was walking home,I found something stuck in the front pocket of my backpack. A paper heart. Cut jagged,like someone used dull scissors. In Ava's handwriting , just four words:

"I'm sorry . I'm scared."

I stopped breathing for a second.

So it wasn't just me.

She's scared too.

I held that little heart like it was a real one - like it could break, like it already had. Then I ran home, up to my room, locked the door,and let myself cry. Not because I was sad. But because I finally knew the truth.

She feels it too.

we're both just terrified of the world and what it does to soft things.

But maybe - just maybe - love doesn't need to be loud. Maybe it can be passed In notes,in glances, in quiet apologies cut out of notebook papers.

Maybe tomorrow, I'll write her back.

Maybe tomorrow, I'll stop hiding.

Maybe tomorrow,I'll let love win.

love me.