After weeks of quiet glances and silent what-ifs, I never imagined fate would bring him closer — especially on a day I never meant to stand out.
It was my birthday at the office — a day I had hoped would pass quietly. I brought donuts for my team, not realizing most were working from home. The break room felt too big, the celebration too small. Out of quiet embarrassment, I invited the other team to join — including him.
I hadn't meant for it to happen that way.
I wasn't ready.
It was supposed to be simple, quiet.
But fate — clumsy, mischievous — had other plans.
Instead of my friend calling everyone else first, she called him.
The moment I heard his name, my heart dropped. I felt heat rush to my cheeks, nerves scrambling in all directions.
Still, somehow — through the panic and pounding heartbeat — I found the courage to invite him myself. Properly, this time.
He smiled. That quiet, gentle smile of his.
And said yes.
We walked together to the outdoor area — just the two of us.
He made small talk, and I nodded along, only half-hearing, half-dreaming.
Then, casually, almost playfully, he asked:
"Were you the one who sent the perfume?"
My heart nearly stopped. I could barely meet his eyes.
But I nodded. "Yes," I said, my voice barely a whisper.
He smiled again.
"Matagal na," he said softly — he had known for a long time.
Something inside me trembled. A mix of fear, relief, and the need to finally say it — all of it.
So I did.
I told him the truth:
That yes, I liked him.
That I didn't expect anything from him.
That my feelings weren't meant to pressure or confuse.
I just wanted to know him.
To be friends, if he would let me.
Nothing more. No expectations. No demands.
He looked at me for a moment — quietly, thoughtfully.
Then, he smiled.
Offered his hand.
And said, "Let's not be awkward. We can be friends."
That moment — small, simple, and sincere — felt like sunlight cracking through a long, quiet sky.
We even took a photo together.
I tucked it away like a fragile treasure, a memory I didn't want to lose.
Later, I added him on Instagram.
He followed back.
A tiny, glowing ember of hope lit inside me — warm, real.
But when I returned from vacation leave, something had shifted.
He stopped speaking to me.
Stopped looking at me.
And the silence grew louder with each passing day.
At first, I told myself he was just tired.
Busy. Distracted.
But the distance between us stretched wider — undeniable, heavy.
Had I said too much?
Had I asked for more than I meant to?
Every day became a quiet ache — filled with greetings I swallowed and glances that never met.
I wished I could go back.
Back to when my feelings were still a secret.
Still safe.
But the truth was already out there — trembling quietly in the space between us.