Title: Even the Blossom Waited

Liz had always been the girl with a spark in her eyes and dreams that danced like stars in the
night sky. But ever since Wes walked into her life—quiet, brooding, always lost in his
thoughts—her world had taken a new shape.

She noticed the little things: how he ran his hand through his hair when nervous, how he
zoned out staring at nothing, and how his laughter—rare as it was—sounded like music to her
soul. Liz fell, slowly and deeply.

So she tried. Day after day, she showed up—in smiles, in notes left on his desk, in her offers
to share lunch, in moments where she waited silently, just to walk beside him.

But Wes… never looked.

He barely nodded.

He brushed past her like a breeze he never felt.

People around her asked why she didn’t give up. But love, Liz believed, wasn’t something
you switched off.

Until that one day.

It was raining—almost poetically. Liz found Wes outside the library, and with a soft smile,
she approached him yet again.

“Wes… I made this for you.”

It was a small sketchbook—filled with drawings of places he once said he wanted to visit.
But something snapped in him.

“Liz,” he said, his voice cold and sharp, “Why don’t you get it? Just… stop. Stop following
me, stop trying. I’m not interested. Just leave me alone!”

For a second, the world froze.

Liz didn’t say a word. She only blinked—and smiled softly.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Then she turned around and walked away, the sketchbook still in her hands, her heart in
pieces.

From that day, she disappeared from Wes’ world.

No more stolen glances, no more kind gestures, no more waiting near the library.

And for the first time…

Wes noticed her absence.

The silence she left behind wasn’t peaceful—it was loud.

Louder than her presence had ever been.

And slowly, a strange ache grew in Wes’ chest.

Part 2: The Echo of Her Silence

Even the blossom waited… and then it let go.

At first, Wes felt… relieved.

No more footsteps behind him.

No more soft greetings.

No more sketchbooks, silly jokes, or the scent of lavender she always seemed to carry.

But a week passed.

Then two.

And something started to feel—off.

He walked through the hallway and noticed the empty corner where Liz used to wait with a
hopeful smile.

At the café, the chair across from him remained empty.

He caught himself looking over his shoulder… for no reason.

Or maybe—for someone who used to be everywhere.

And then it hit him.

He missed her.

Not just her presence, but everything about her: her kindness, her persistence, her laughter,
and the way she saw him—really saw him—even when he didn’t want to be seen.

He remembered the sketchbook she had tried to give him.

That day flashed in his mind like a thunderclap.

The way her smile cracked when he shouted.

The quietness in her “Okay.”

It haunted him.

Wes tried to move on. But wherever he went, he saw traces of Liz.

Her laughter echoed in empty rooms.

Her absence became louder than her presence ever was.

He found himself standing outside her classroom, waiting.

But she never looked his way.

She passed him like he was the breeze now.

That was when he knew.

He hadn’t just lost her attention—

He had lost her.

And for the first time, Wes—who had always kept people at a distance—

Wanted to be seen.

By her.
Part 3: What He Could’ve Had

Even the blossom waited… and then it let go.

Days turned into weeks. And Wes watched—from the shadows of his own guilt.

Liz was no longer the girl chasing after someone who wouldn’t look at her.

She had changed.

She laughed more now—freely, without hesitation.

But not at Wes’ jokes.

At Will’s.

Will, her classmate. The guy who used to be just a name in the background.

Now he was everywhere Liz was.

Wes saw them studying together in the library, Liz’s head leaning a little too close to Will’s
shoulder. He saw her sharing her favorite snacks with him—the same ones she used to save
for Wes.

And it burned.

A strange, unfamiliar ache settled in Wes’ chest.

Jealousy. Regret. Something uglier. Something deeper.

He told himself it was nothing. That she had the right to move on.

But when he saw her smile at Will the way she once smiled at him, Wes realized something
painful:
He wanted that smile back.

He wanted her to chase him again, to care again.

He wanted to rewind time—to take back those words, that moment in the rain.

But now… she didn’t even look his way.

And Will?

He didn’t ignore her. He looked at Liz like she was magic.

The same way Wes should have, when he had the chance.

He caught himself gripping his books tighter when they laughed together.

He started walking slower in the halls, hoping she’d at least notice him.

But she never did.

Liz wasn’t being cold—she was simply done.

And now, for the first time, Wes felt what she had felt all along.

Unseen. Unwanted.
Part 4: Wes’s Heart, Finally Speaking

Even the blossom waited… and then it let go.

She doesn’t look at me anymore.

That’s the first thing I notice every morning.

There was a time when her eyes would find me in a crowded hallway, like I was the only
person that existed.

And now… I could be standing right in front of her, and she’d look through me.

It hurts.

God, it hurts more than I thought it ever would.

She used to talk about the stars and how she believed every person had one that watched over
them.

Maybe mine dimmed the moment I shouted at her.

I didn’t mean to.

I was just overwhelmed, scared even. Of her closeness. Of how much space she took up in
my world without asking.

But I see it now—how stupid I was.

How cruel.

She gave everything to be near me. And all I gave her was silence laced with coldness.

And now, the roles have reversed.

She walks with Will now.

He makes her laugh in that way I always secretly wished I could.

She looks at him like he’s the center of her orbit.

And maybe he is. Because I stepped away.

I let her go.

I tell myself she deserves someone who sees her. Who listens. Who doesn’t push her away
when she loves too loudly.

But deep down… I wish it was me.

Every night, I think of the way she looked at me—hopeful, patient, brave.

And I hate myself for breaking that look.

Now, when she passes me in the corridor, she wears armor.

Her smile is distant. Her eyes don’t flicker. Her steps never slow.

And I want to scream,

“Liz, I’m sorry.”

“I see you now.”

“Please… don’t love someone else the way you loved me.”

But I stay silent.

Because maybe I don’t deserve a second chance.

Maybe all I’ll ever have is the memory of how she once loved me like I was made of stars.

And I… never even looked up.

Part 5: Diya’s Silence

“Just leave me alone.”

Those words.

They echo.

Even now, days later, I can still feel the sting.

Not just in my ears, but in my chest.

A sharp, aching silence that settled the moment he raised his voice.

I didn’t cry.

Not then. Not in front of him.

I smiled—out of habit. Said “Okay,” like it didn’t shatter me.

Then I walked away with dignity… and heartbreak.

Because I didn’t chase him out of obsession.

I didn’t love him for attention.

I loved him because when I looked at him, I saw someone who was lonely but deep.
Someone who needed understanding. Someone who made my heart beat differently.

I thought… if I stayed long enough, maybe he’d let me in.

Maybe he’d see that my love was quiet, not demanding.

Maybe he’d see me.

But he never did.

And that day—when he tore through my hope with just a few words—I realized something
important.

I deserve more.

I deserve a love that doesn’t make me beg.

I deserve someone who doesn’t flinch from kindness or run from affection.

So I stopped.

I stopped looking for him in the hallways.

Stopped saving stories to tell him.

Stopped being “the girl who waited.”

And slowly, I changed.

Will didn’t ask me to. But he showed up when I was tired of being invisible.

He listened when I didn’t know how to speak.

And most of all—he never made me feel like I was too much.

I still think of Sanji sometimes.

I wonder if he regrets it.

If he remembers the way I looked at him—like he was the only one.

But I’ve learned that love, no matter how deep, shouldn’t make you feel like you’re in the
way.

So now, I smile for me.

And if Sanji ever looks back…

He’ll see a girl who loved him deeply—

But finally, learned to love herself more.

Part 6: A Love That Couldn’t Be Replaced

Sanji sat across from her—Rhea.

She was sweet. Charming. Said all the right things. Laughed at his dry humor.

Everyone said they looked good together.

And for a moment, he let himself believe it.

That maybe this was what he needed.

Something—someone—to pull him away from the ache that Diya left behind.

But halfway through their conversation, he found his mind wandering.

Rhea’s voice was soft, but it didn’t have that fire Diya carried.

Her stories were interesting, but he missed Diya’s chaotic excitement, her eyes lighting up
over the smallest things.

He smiled at Rhea—but it felt wrong. Forced.

Because he realized… he was comparing.

Every moment with Rhea was a shadow of what he wished he still had.

He thought maybe if he held someone else’s hand, he’d forget the way Diya’s fingers brushed
his when she passed him a note.

But instead, all he could think was—these aren’t her hands.

She wasn’t Diya.

She would never be.

And it hit him like a cold wave:

He didn’t want someone new.

He wanted her. Her messy thoughts. Her stubborn hope. Her painful silence that now
screamed in every quiet moment.
He excused himself early. Rhea looked confused, but he couldn’t lie anymore—not to her,
not to himself.

He stepped outside, looked up at the sky—and it was clouded, grey.

“I pushed her away,” he whispered to no one.

“And now… no one feels right.”

That night, he sat alone in his room, holding the one thing Diya had once left on his desk—a
little doodle she made of him reading a book, a tiny smile on her cartoon version of him.

Back then, he ignored it.

Now?

It was the only thing that made him feel whole.

Part 7: The Cowardice of Almost

Sanji saw Diya across the courtyard one afternoon—wind in her hair, laughing at something
Will said.

And his chest tightened again. That same ache. That same guilt.

He took a step forward.

Maybe today… I’ll talk to her.

Maybe he’d say he was sorry. That he missed her. That he never stopped thinking about her.

But then she looked away before she could notice him.
And his courage dissolved.

He stood there like a stranger, heart pounding, watching her walk away.

So he turned around.

Back to Rhea.

She was there waiting, like she always was. Steady. Kind.

He smiled—half-heartedly—and sat beside her.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he lied. “Just tired.”

But it wasn’t tiredness. It was emptiness.

A dull hollowness that followed him everywhere now. Because pretending with Rhea was
easier than facing the truth with Diya.

He held Rhea’s hand as they walked, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

But all he could think about… was how it didn’t feel right.

How his heart didn’t skip, how his soul didn’t stir.

He wished—just once—that it was Diya beside him.

That he could rewind to the day she offered him that sketchbook and take her hand instead of
pushing her away.

But wishes don’t change the past.

And fear doesn’t let you move forward.

So he stayed quiet. Stayed with Rhea.

And every day, he rehearsed words he never spoke:

“Diya, I was wrong.”

“I miss you.”

“Please… come back.”

But by then…

He wasn’t sure if she ever would.

Part 8: The Love That Wasn’t Enough

She wasn’t trying to look for him.

But her eyes—traitorous and soft—found him anyway.

Across the campus lawn, under the same tree where Diya used to wait for him once upon a
time.

Sanji was sitting there.

With her.
Rhea.

Diya froze, mid-step, as she watched the two of them.

Rhea was laughing, touching his arm lightly.

And Sanji… he was smiling. That soft, calm smile Diya used to dream of earning.

The one she chased for months.

Something inside her sank.

So he could love someone.

He could care. He could sit still and listen and smile.

Just not… for her.

She looked away, blinking fast, pretending her heart didn’t just crack open all over again.

She had moved on—at least, that’s what she told herself.

She had Will now. He made her laugh. He made her feel seen.

But seeing Sanji with someone else—it hurt.

Because no matter how strong she pretended to be, there was still a piece of her that
whispered:

Why wasn’t I enough?

She had offered Sanji everything—her attention, her time, her love—pure and patient.
But all he gave her was silence.

And now, watching him offer his words, his warmth, his smile…

To someone else?

It felt like betrayal.

Not his—but her own heart’s. For still aching.

She turned away quickly before he noticed her.

Before she gave away the tears she refused to cry anymore.

And as she walked back, her chest tight and quiet, she thought:

“Maybe he just didn’t want me the way I wanted him. And maybe… he never will.”

But that didn’t stop her from remembering every time she almost believed he could.

Part 9: The Rain That Washed Away Everything

It was raining again.

Sanji sat by the window in his room, staring at the droplets racing each other down the glass.

The same rain that had witnessed the words he wished he could take back.
That day.

That moment.

He remembered the way Diya had approached him outside the library, her smile soft, her
hope palpable in the way she held out the sketchbook.

The sketchbook. A piece of her heart. Something so small, yet so huge in her eyes.

She had been so careful, so eager. And he?

He was a fool. Cold. Angry. Insecure.

He hadn’t seen it then, hadn’t understood it.

Her love wasn’t loud or demanding—it was quiet.

It was a gesture, a kind word, a simple sketchbook filled with dreams of places they’d never
been.

And instead of feeling lucky, he had felt… trapped.

Why are you always here?

Why do you keep trying so hard?

The words stung as much now as they did that day.

And then he had shouted at her.

He had pushed her away.

He couldn’t remember exactly why—maybe it was fear. Or pride.

But now, as the rain tapped softly against the window, he saw it clearly. She had only wanted
him to see her. To care.

He had rejected her without even realizing how much she was giving.

And she—Diya—had walked away with nothing but a smile, a single “Okay,” that echoed in
his soul like a death knell.

The distance between them now was impossible to bridge.

His fingers traced the edge of the sketchbook she had left behind—the one that now sat on his
desk, gathering dust. He hadn’t touched it since that day.

And yet, it felt like it was the only thing that connected him to her.

“I should’ve never let you go,” he muttered under his breath, as though she might somehow
hear him. “You deserved better than me.”

In the silence of his room, the weight of his regret settled.

And it was only in that moment that he realized…

Diya had loved him with everything she had.

And he had thrown it all away.

Part 10: The Realization of a Lost Chance

Sanji stood frozen, his heart stumbling as he heard the conversation—accidental,

eavesdropped from a distance.

Diya’s laughter. It was brighter than he remembered, free in a way he hadn’t heard in so long.
But then came the words. The ones that struck him like a blow.

“Will and I are going to the movies tonight. I think it’s finally time I told him.”

Sanji’s pulse spiked. His legs felt weak beneath him, and he leaned against the wall to steady
himself.

“Told him.”

Told him what?

Diya didn’t need to say more. Sanji’s stomach turned.

She wasn’t just laughing with Will. She wasn’t just sharing snacks or studying together.

She was… falling in love with him.

He turned away quickly, the realization sinking in. Diya, the girl who had once given him
everything, was no longer his. She was moving on.

And it wasn’t with anyone else—it was with Will, the one person Sanji never even
considered would take her heart.

The pang of jealousy twisted into something deeper—something more painful.

It wasn’t just that Diya had found someone else.

It was that Will had seen what Sanji had missed.

The love Sanji had thrown away like it didn’t matter.

How could I have been so blind?

It wasn’t just regret anymore. It was a loss, sharper than anything he had ever felt.
He could never undo the past. He couldn’t go back to the days when Diya smiled at him the
way she used to—when he was the one she was waiting for.

Now, Will was the one who would get to hold her hand.

Will was the one who would be her someone.

And Sanji?

He was just the guy who let her walk away.

Part 11: The Truth He Never Saw Coming

Sanji sat quietly in the corner of the café, headphones in, pretending to study—but his eyes
kept drifting to Diya.

She was at a table near the window, sipping coffee, her friend Sam seated across from her.

They were deep in conversation, laughter in their eyes, peace in their presence.

Then Will walked in.

Sanji’s chest tightened.

The three of them hugged like old friends—comfortable, familiar. But then, something odd
happened.

Will didn’t sit beside Diya.

He sat beside Sam.

And when he took her hand, gentle and natural…

Sanji’s heart skipped.

His eyes widened slightly, scanning Diya’s expression for any clue of surprise. But she just
smiled, knowingly. Almost proudly.

Then Sam leaned over and kissed Will’s cheek.

Sanji blinked.

Wait. What?

He sat up straighter, every piece of the puzzle clicking into place.

Will wasn’t Diya’s.

He never was.

The long talks, the laughter, the time spent together—it was all friendship.

Pure. Simple. And utterly non-romantic.

He misunderstood everything.

Diya had never replaced him.

She had just… healed.

And he?

He had wasted weeks burning in jealousy, stuck in silence, pretending to be happy with
Rhea—when the truth was, Diya had been single all along.
Single.

And drifting further from him with every day he kept his mouth shut.

His thoughts spiraled as he watched Diya throw her head back in laughter, eyes crinkling, joy
untouched by his absence.

He wasn’t sure if he felt hope… or deeper sorrow.

Because now, knowing the truth, one thing became painfully clear:

He still loved her.

And he might still have a chance.

But the real question was…

Did she still have room in her heart for him?

Part 12: A Love She Never Let Go

People thought she’d moved on.

That the silence between her and Sanji was closure.

That Will had filled the space Sanji left behind.

But no one saw the truth—not even Sanji.

Diya still loved him.

Every time she saw him in the corridor, pretending not to notice her, it hurt in that quiet,
familiar way.

The kind of hurt you learn to live with.

The kind that becomes part of you.

She still remembered that rainy day, every single detail.

The heaviness in his voice when he told her to leave him alone. The way she nodded, smiled
faintly, and walked away without looking back.

But inside, something had broken.

Not just her heart—her hope.

And yet, the love stayed.

Even when she laughed with Will. Even when she told herself she was better now, stronger.

Even when she saw him with Rhea and bit her lip to keep from crying—

She still loved him.

She loved the way he held books like they were fragile treasures.

She loved the rare moments he opened up, when he thought no one was listening.

She loved how he’d glance at the sky during long silences, like searching for answers in the
clouds.

She loved the version of him he never let her see up close.
But she never said it again.

Because once was enough to be told she wasn’t wanted.

So she kept it buried.

Under smiles, under silence, under strength.

Yet, when she looked at him now—from across rooms, from behind unspoken glances—there
was still that same ache. That same question.

Did he ever feel it too?

Because if he did…

Even a little…

She was still here.

Still holding the part of her heart that only ever belonged to him.

Part 13: The Smile That Said Everything—and Nothing

The cafeteria buzzed with noise, trays clattering, laughter echoing.

Sanji stood in line, half-distracted, lost in thought—as always, lately—with Diya circling his
mind like a ghost he couldn’t shake.
And then, she walked in.

He didn’t expect it.

Didn’t prepare for it.

But there she was, surrounded by her friends, casual and radiant in that effortless way only
she could be.

Time stilled for a second.

She saw him.

Of course she did.

Her gaze met his, just for a breath of a moment.

And she smiled.

Not the smile that once held longing.

Not the one that asked “do you see me?”

This one was different.

It was soft. Polite.

Distant.

Like a smile you give to someone who once meant something… and now, maybe, doesn’t.
Sanji opened his mouth to speak—just a word, her name, anything. But nothing came out.

The weight in his chest pinned him down.

Diya turned back to her friends, laughed at something someone said, and walked right past
him.

No anger.

No bitterness.

Just… acceptance.

And that hurt more than any harsh word ever could.

Because now he realized—she wasn’t waiting anymore.

She had given up on him.

And maybe, just maybe… she had given up on them too.

Sanji stood there long after she left, the smile she gave him etched into his memory like a
scar.

A smile that said:

“I loved you. I waited. But I’m done.”

That’s a perfect setup for emotional tension and quiet longing—Sanji making the smallest
gesture with the biggest meaning. Here’s how that moment plays out:
Part 14: The Seat Beside Him

The college trip buzzed with excitement—bags packed, snacks passed around, playlists being
argued over. Students poured into the bus one by one, fighting over window seats and joking
with each other.

Sanji was already there, seated near the middle. His hoodie pulled low, eyes scanning the
entrance like he wasn’t looking for someone—but he was.

Diya.

He had done something strange, something he told himself he wouldn’t.

He kept the seat beside him empty.

When people asked if it was taken, he just shook his head.

“Waiting for someone,” he mumbled, brushing them off.

And maybe it was foolish.

Maybe she’d sit somewhere else, maybe she wouldn’t even notice—but a part of him needed
to leave that space open.

Because it was always hers.

Even when she didn’t take it.

Then… she stepped onto the bus.

His breath caught for a second—like she carried the whole storm of his memories with her.

She laughed with Sam and Will, looking carefree.

But her eyes swept the rows quickly—just a glance—until they landed on him.

And the seat beside him.

Unclaimed. Waiting.

Their eyes met.

Sanji didn’t say a word.

He just… moved his bag off the seat. Quiet. Hopeful.

Diya paused.

She could sit anywhere. There were other spots—louder ones, warmer ones.

But something in the stillness between them pulled her forward.

Her friends looked at her, confused.

“You’re not sitting with us?”

Diya hesitated… then shook her head with a small smile.

“I’ll catch up later.”

And she walked down the aisle.

She sat beside him. No words.

Just her presence—soft and steady.

Sanji didn’t look at her right away.

But the corner of his mouth lifted, just barely.

Maybe this was nothing.

Or maybe… it was a beginning.

Because sometimes, love doesn’t come crashing in.

Sometimes, it just sits quietly beside you.