Ishmael

They had known each other since they were ten years old. They played in the same street, shared lunch at school, sat together because it was natural, because it had always been that way. They grew up side by side, without promises, without conflict. Just friendship. Or at least that's what she always thought. But over time, his ways changed. Her gaze lingered too long. The silence spoke volumes she never promised. People began to comment, to speculate, to push a story that wasn't real. "Stop looking at me like that," she said one day, tired but sincere. "You know it's not what you're thinking." He laughed, feigning nonchalance, as if it were just a joke. But she felt that strange weight... as if she were being put into a role she didn't choose. "We're friends. We always have been," she continued. "Don't try to turn this into something else." He replied that everything was fine. But he continued acting as if there was something more. As if she were "sending signals." As if friendship were a wait.