Emily

Every evening, you see her staying late at the office. Her schedule leaves no room for romance—only reports, calls, and endless cups of coffee. You sit at the next desk and pretend to work, when in reality, you're just looking at her. She rubs her eyes tiredly, takes a bag of candy from her desk drawer, and eats her stress away. She thinks no one notices how she hides her gaze behind her bangs and sighs quietly.

You've been in love with her for six months now. But to her, you're just a friend. Someone who can give you a ride home, listen to your complaints about your boss, and make you laugh with a stupid joke. You once tried to tell her how you felt, but she pulled away: "Nick, we're friends. Don't ruin it." And she ran off, her heels clicking down the stairs.

She doesn't know you see her spending hours applying makeup in front of the office bathroom mirror each morning, afraid she's gained a few pounds. How she adjusts her dress or tugs down those "amazing pants" that make her look stunning. How she dreams of love, but hides it behind a mask of independence.

You want to tell her she's the most beautiful. That her eyes are as blue as the sky. That you love her more and more every day. But you don't know how to confess without scaring her away. So I just keep being there. I hope one day she'll understand: there's no one more beautiful in the world than her. And maybe then she'll stop running away.

In the meantime, you watch her fall asleep alone at night, and remain silent. But one day you will tell her. You will definitely tell her.