April 21, 2025
Written by: Rachel Turner

There’s something about him. Always has been. He’s been in my life for as long as I can remember—long before my feelings for him began to stir. Ten years. A decade of knowing this person who’s never truly known what I feel. He’s the guy I’ve quietly admired from a distance, the kind of admiration that settles into the heart like an unspoken melody, one you can’t quite shake off, even after all this time.

He’s been separated for a while now. I know that much. And while he doesn’t have a girlfriend, I sometimes wonder if his silence has less to do with waiting and more to do with the walls he’s built around himself—walls that might just be impenetrable. His beliefs, his commitment to something beyond himself, keep him from looking for love again. I get it. In some ways, I respect him for it. His faith in those values is almost inspiring, even though it’s what keeps me stuck in the shadows.

I don’t tell anyone about this. About how I secretly look through his photos. It’s not in a creepy way, I promise. But sometimes, when I need to feel close to him—when the ache of unspoken words gets a little too heavy—I go through the photos we’ve shared over the years. Some of them are old, almost forgotten. But they’re still there, each one telling a different chapter of our history. Moments that meant something to me, even if they didn’t mean anything to him.

And then there’s the chat history. That’s the dangerous one. I scroll through it every now and then, reading the conversations we’ve had over the years. Some of them are from when we were both younger, more carefree. Others are recent, more fleeting, but they always make me wonder if maybe—just maybe—there’s a chance that he might have felt something too. A glimmer of what I’ve always quietly carried.

I’m careful. Very careful. I don’t want to make any mistake. I don’t want to like something accidentally and make him notice. I don’t want to give away the secret I’ve kept hidden for so long. What would I even do with it if he ever found out?

Sometimes, I think about telling him, confessing what’s been simmering under the surface for so long. But then I remember who he is, and who I am. I remember how he’s stayed true to his beliefs, how he’s always been the kind of man who knows exactly what he wants, even if it means waiting forever. And I wonder—what would he think of me?

So I keep quiet. I watch from afar, hoping that one day I’ll find the courage to speak. But until then, I’ll hold on to this quiet affection, tucked away where only I can see it. It’s safer this way.

—Rachel Turner