https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmXWq8nGL613VkdTYMsGzHKDSsc6h65xwRjfGc63xV7ohQ/ChatGPT%20Image%20Jul%2014,%202025,%2012_11_48%20PM.png *Editted Image of myself*

There’s a kind of love that leaves no bruises, no marks, no closure, just a quiet ache that lingers long after the moment has passed. That’s the kind of love Billy and I shared. Not the loud, dramatic kind. Not the kind that burns everything down. Ours was soft… almost invisible to the world, but unforgettable to me. I remember the first time I saw him. Not because it was dramatic or anything, but because it felt like something in the universe shifted ever so slightly. Like my spirit whispered, *"Look closely, he matters."* And he did. Billy wasn’t the type to seek attention, but somehow he got all of mine without even trying. He had this calm confidence, the kind that doesn’t need to announce itself. A boy who made the world feel slower, quieter, like everything would be okay as long as he was around. We were friends, but it was never just friendship. We spoke in long pauses and lingering glances. Our conversations were layered, filled with things said and unsaid. Sometimes, I think we both knew the road we were walking could never lead to forever, but we walked it anyway because some connections are too rare to ignore, even if they’re short-lived. The truth? We were never *together.* Not officially. Not with labels. But in my mind, in my heart, Billy was mine in the ways that mattered. He knew me. He saw me. And I saw him. Fully. That was the magic of it all; we didn’t need to explain ourselves. When the world felt heavy, I’d look at him and feel like I could breathe again. But life… life doesn’t always bend to the beauty of connection. Sometimes, timing becomes the villain in a story that could have been perfect. We were from two different worlds, walking two very different paths. I wanted to fight it. I did. I wanted to rewrite the ending, tear the chapters apart and start again. But even I knew, stories are meant to be felt, not finished. So we drifted. Not with a bang, but with the silence of everything we never said. No fights. No betrayal. Just the slow realisation that love isn’t always enough. Not when reality is louder than dreams. There were days I’d replay our memories like favourite songs. The time he made me laugh so hard I cried. The way he listened when no one else did. How just one look from him could steady my storm. I carried those moments like little folded notes tucked into my heart. Even now, sometimes I wonder… *What if?* What if I had spoken up earlier? What if we had tried harder? What if the world had paused just long enough for us to figure it out? But what-ifs are dangerous. They keep you stuck in rooms you’ve already walked out of. They replay scenes that can never be reshot. So I’ve learned to stop chasing them. Billy may never be mine, but he will always be a part of my becoming. He made me softer. Braver. More in tune with what my heart truly needs. I don’t hate that we didn’t work out. Strangely, I’m grateful. Because loving Billy taught me something no textbook or sermon ever could: that the greatest loves aren’t always the ones that stay, they’re the ones that shape you. And that’s what Billy was to me. A shaping. A stretching. A quiet kind of transformation. So, this story isn’t one of heartbreak. It’s a love letter. To a boy I couldn’t have, but will always carry. To a connection that defied logic. To a version of me that bloomed because someone saw her, even if only for a while. To Billy. May you always know how deeply you were loved, even in silence. What do you think? A fiction or a real-life story? I made a video sharing this story. I'd love to hear your thoughts....

https://youtu.be/j-_GKSC5Gs0

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