Everything I Never Say ✓

[ ten ]

Ten

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It was the most mundane of days, really, when it finally dawned on me — when it finally hit me what to name this volcano of emotions that has been growing and growing for you.

I have spent a lot of time— a lot, really— trying to pin down the exact day, exact moment, exact heartbeat that I fell for you.

But that turned out to be a fruitless attempt; like finding a wet park bench, and trying to decipher which rain drop was the first to fall on it.

Impossible. And useless. Where was the point, and logic, in tracing it all the way back to the beginning?

I remember being twelve, of course. And I remember you being sixteen.

You still had overgrown dark hair, even darker eyes, and a complexion that was smooth as cream (appearance-wise, of course. Your touch will forever remain unknown to me, I suppose).

You were shorter than most boys your age, even a few inches below the average height and it bugged you to no end. It was when you just started wearing glasses, too. Rectangular ones. The fashionable kind. White frame. I thought you pulled it off, sort of. You hated it.

It was also when you had braces. I remember the times you'd tease me and annoy me relentlessly, until there were tears of frustration filling my eyes. Hadley used to tell me to fight back, to call you rabbit-teeth in return.

I couldn't, Daniel. Couldn't do that to you. Not when I was aware of how insecure you were about both your height and your teeth, despite the I-don't-give-a-shit attitude you adapted.

I've pissed you off numerous times, sure. Frustrated you, punched you, screamed at you. But I've never hurt you. Just like you've never hurt me. Thank you for that, by the way — for knowing how to make fun of me, and tease me, and embarrass me, without hurting my feelings or causing me pain.

Do you remember the day I want to talk about, Daniel? I doubt you do. It would've been a normal, ordinary, 'just another' day for you.

I was lounging on one of the sofas, munching on something, and Vivian was there, on the opposite seat, her hair divided into portions and wrapped around curlers. She had a face mask on, and the TV remote in her hand.

A stupid, boring, mundane, sort of day.

I don't even remember what day it was, or what happened for the rest of the day. All I remember is this one— one— particular moment. A cluster of seconds. A few irregular heartbeats.

You were sprinting down the stairs, a white hoodie on. White-framed glasses on. Black hair spilling over your forehead.

“Leaving already?” Vivian asked, getting up from the sofa.

Did you nod? Did you respond? I don't recall.

I remember you grabbing your shoes, though. And then dropping yourself down into the space right next to me, completely clueless to the explosion you set off in my chest with that one gesture.

I got up casually, as if going to place the bowl of whatever I was munching on the table between the sofas and the TV. And then, on the way back, I placed myself on the single-seat couch. Like it was no big deal.

Because it shouldn't have been a big deal.

We lived together for ages by then. Grown up besides each other for even longer. Close proximity shouldn't have been something that made my stomach tie itself in knots.

Vivian had said something, to which you'd replied sarcastically. And then she was laughing, running her fingers through your stupid, overgrown hair. And you, you were smiling to yourself and shaking your head, cheeks slightly coloured. Your head was tilted down, eyes focused on the shoelaces your fingers were working on.

And I swallowed, because that scene — watching you in that moment — something hit me inside. Deep, deep inside. Somewhere in my chest, between my ribs. Or maybe it was all over? I don't know.

I do know that it is a moment, a few irregular heartbeats, engraved in my memory forever.

I was twelve then, and maybe I was too young to be in love. I doubt that was the moment I realised I was in love with you. I don't know if I even was in love at that point — maybe it was just a strong liking. More than a silly crush, definitely. But not yet love. Or maybe it was love. But I didn't know it and couldn't recognise it at that time.

All I know about why that moment stands out to me the most — is because I think that's when I felt the most. The most of everything. The most of every single emotion you awoke in me.

Maybe it wasn't love just yet at that point, but the damage was already done, Daniel. Because it was then, right there, that it dawned on me you meant something — and a lot, lot more— to me. It was then, right there, that it hit me I had feelings for you.

And the minute I felt my heart race and my breath hitch and my fingers tremble and my knees shake, I began denying it.

And it was then, in my denying of my feelings for you that I began to see how deep it already ran.

So I ran, Daniel.

From it. From you.

Because what else would a twelve year old who felt her heart leap out of her chest do? Shove it back in its place, and then keep away from whatever brought out such a bittersweet ache.

I know I've have spent a lot of time wondering how to crawl out of this hole I've let myself fall into — and maybe you've spent just as much time wondering why I grew distant. Detached. Withdrawn.

You wouldn't have known then, and you might never know now, Daniel, but this is why.

This is why.

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