one-sided love

It all started with a laugh. Not mine, of course—hers. Emily’s laugh had this magical quality to it, like it could light up the entire room. I first heard it in our sophomore year of college, in a crowded lecture hall where we both had mistakenly signed up for an early morning class.

Emily and I became friends pretty quickly. She had this infectious energy, always ready with a smile or a joke. We started hanging out more, grabbing coffee between classes, studying together in the library, and hitting up campus parties on the weekends. The more time I spent with her, the more I realized I was falling for her.

It wasn't long before I was head over heels. Emily, though, seemed blissfully unaware of my feelings. She'd talk about her latest crushes or dates, and I'd listen, heart aching but still hanging on to every word. I’d laugh at her jokes, comfort her when things didn’t work out, and be the shoulder she could lean on.

One evening, we were sitting in her dorm room, watching some cheesy horror movie. Emily had her head on my shoulder, and I could barely focus on the screen because my mind was spinning. I wanted to tell her so badly, to just blurt out how I felt and see what would happen. But every time I opened my mouth, fear held me back. I didn’t want to ruin what we had, this incredible friendship that meant the world to me.

Then came the night of the big campus spring dance. I finally mustered the courage to ask her to go with me, as friends, of course. She said yes, and I was over the moon. We spent the evening dancing, laughing, and taking silly photos. Under the twinkling lights, with the music playing softly, it felt like the perfect moment. My heart raced as I thought, "This is it. I have to tell her now."

But then, as if reading my mind, Emily started talking about this guy she met in her lit class. She described him with such excitement and affection, and I felt my heart sink. It was clear she was into him, and I was just the friend. The moment passed, and I swallowed my feelings once again.

Over the next few months, Emily and this guy started dating. I watched from the sidelines, putting on a brave face and pretending to be happy for her. She'd tell me about their dates, and I'd listen, hiding the pain behind a smile. It was torture, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk away. I cared about her too much.

One night, after a particularly tough day, I finally broke down and told my roommate, Josh, everything. He listened, then gave me a piece of advice that stuck: “You’ve got to tell her, man. Even if it doesn’t change anything, at least you’ll have closure.”

So, I did. I asked Emily to meet me at our favorite coffee shop. My hands were shaking, and my heart was pounding, but I knew it was now or never. When she arrived, I took a deep breath and spilled everything—how I’d been in love with her for as long as I could remember, how it killed me to see her with someone else, and how I just needed her to know.

Emily looked at me with a mix of surprise and sadness. She took my hand and said, “I had no idea. I’m so sorry, but I don’t feel the same way.” Her words were gentle, but they still cut deep. She explained that she loved me as a friend and didn’t want to lose that, but she couldn’t give me what I wanted.

It hurt, a lot. But in a way, it was also a relief. The not knowing was over, and I could start to heal. We hugged, and I walked away with tears in my eyes but a weight lifted off my shoulders.

Time passed, and things changed. Emily and I drifted apart, not out of malice but because it was what we both needed. I focused on myself, started new hobbies, met new people. The pain faded slowly, and I learned to let go.

Looking back now, I realize that loving Emily, even one-sidedly, taught me a lot about myself. It was a chapter in my life filled with highs and lows, but it helped shape who I am today. And for that, I’m grateful.