MY UNREQUITED LETTERS by Leirin

This story is part of the Make it Bitter or Make it Better Writing Challenge, where we invited writers to explore the storytelling possibilities of a simple situation. We gave authors free reign to interpret the prompt as they see fit, provided that they give their story a clear ending.

Read on and let the author take you on a ride through their imagination. At the end, don't forget to show them your support.

Note: This story has not yet been proofread.

Ever since then, there was a palpable tension between us after reading the letter from your anonymous admirer.

Loquacious, loud, words that seem not to fit you like before.

You became wary before making a jest.

Those fidgeting fingers, wavering voice, shifting eyes  that avoided my gaze.

Behaviors you used not to do.

Was it wrong to love my own friend? 

It wasn't rejection that I feared, 

It was the slow changes that might shift in our friendship.

Is it maybe the small stolen glances that gave it away?

My flustered face after hearing your cheerful laughter?

Or the noticeable calmness from your soothing voice?

It was not my intention to be caught, 

Everyday I condemn myself for having this admiration.

And yet somehow the letter found itself in your hands.

I watched your eyes as you read every word I wrote.

Letters where I laid bare while writing each alphabet.

How I express each day my heart waits for you idly.

How I bled each page with pure adoration, exclaiming how much perfection you are. 

I described how lucky I am to be with you,

To talk about your dreams, your goals.

To sit by with you, watching the world unfold in front of us.

And yet,.. This distance felt longer

A curse to be so close yet so far from your reach.

Because how can I have the audacity to show you off when you weren't mine in the first place?

Maybe the only mistake I made was loving you with my unrequited longing.

Your eyes tore away from the letter and looked at me. 

You knew it was me, 

The silent rejection that you held in my gaze.

The silence was far too loud than the crowds around us.

And maybe it is not out of hatred but pity.

Witnessing how each force habit shaped you to change.

Swallowing each practice routine into something foreign.

Adjusting for someone like me.

Causing more damage to yourself than before.

You've done nothing wrong but be yourself.

The reason why I started writing letters.

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