Unwritten Chapters
Everything began with a post made on Instagram Stories by one of the people I know. There he stood, surrounded by stunning, green trees on a large area of grass. Even though he was technically there with some pals, he easily made an impression.
What’s his name? Biru.
By the way, it’s not Biru in the blue meaning.
Despite not being well-known or influential, Biru stood out due to his strong presence and provocative thoughts. He was extremely attractive, with sparkling eyes, the perfect representation of a talented person, and completely unapproachable. My heart would speed up each time I explored through his posts on social media.
Thinking of approaching him? That was out of the question.
I was satisfied to just enjoy the stuff he shared. His films and pictures gave the impression that he was an overly perfect human. Even though we were technically neighbors, I was only able to admire him from a distance. I was always simply an observer in his universe, whether it was from the top of a building or the end of a corridor.
I mean, how could someone as invisible as me ever get to know someone as amazing as him?
Part One: The Girl Who Always Denies
Weeks passed, and I became even more impressed as well.
It wasn’t love, I thought, simply pure appreciation for his brilliance — how he created such informative content and actively expressed his thoughts.
I tried to look casual as I laughed off the jokes from everyone around me about him being my virtual crush. Each time his name popped up on the screen, I forced myself to ignore my beating heart by telling myself, “It’s impossible, I just like the content he shares.”
I mean, I had never really interacted with him?!
I held to denial like it was an ultimatum. I fooled myself that awe was reasonable and entirely natural — nothing more. Appreciation remained just that — admiration. It had no deeper significance. Not him, but the information he produced was what I appreciated.
I was afraid that if I allowed myself to love him as a person, I’d lose control and idolize him too much.
I was afraid of crossing that line, of allowing my admiration to turn into something I couldn’t bear.
I discovered a Chinese drama titled Love Me, Love My Voice (很想很想你) while scrolling through a video site one morning. The plot intrigued me; it revolved around Gu Sheng, a charming girl who falls for Qiang Qingci, a creator of content, which resembled my own feelings. She appreciated him from a distance, much like I did, and set up boundaries, admiring his work but not the person behind it. She, too, was afraid of being called a fanatic.
Spicy tripe chicken, a well-known Hakka Guangdong cuisine, was the topic of conversation in the online voice room where their unexpected interaction started.
The drama’s simple plot gave viewers a comforting sense of familiarity, which was therapeutic on difficult days when they wanted to chill. It looks into the characters’ growing relationships — love, career, and family are all connected harmoniously. The characters were a wonderful match for one another, sharing in achievements and facing life’s challenges as a group with real connection. In particular, the drama’s capturing moves about food were so realistically presented that they could make you feel hungry!
Hey, I have a decision. In every starry sky, I want to be close to you.
Hey, I want to hug you; I’ve never been so sure that I really miss you.
Slowly (Ost. Love Me, Love My Voice) — 苡慧 Yihuik
The drama pushed me for asking myself many things. What if fate had brought Biru and me together? What if there was a chance that we could talk to each other? Which words would I pick? What kind of behavior would communicate my awe? Countless choices raced through my mind, some of them impossible, but each one quickened my heartbeat.
Could such a lucky coincidence happen in my life?
I saw that when these ideas took over, I became more interested in Biru’s writing, spreading his work with my peers and making meaningful comments. It was satisfying, but I battled my anxiety about coming across as too excited, keeping in mind that he was just a regular person like me.
Part Two: The Sudden Meeting
Then, on a humid afternoon, we met in the hallway where I study.
I recognised his standing right away, as if it had been written into my brain from numerous images. With an easygoing smile that conveyed a soft warmth, there he was, more magnificent than any photograph could portray.
Gathering all my bravery, I approached him.“Hello, Biru, I really enjoy your work,” I whispered, my voice cracking with fear.
He giggled which surprised and delighted me. “I’m thankful. It’s good to meet you.
“I am Sapphire,” I shouted as I became overwhelmed with excitement.
He said, “Nice to meet you, Sapphire,” and his words made me feel nervous.
We ended up conversing for hours, discussing university courses, swapping life quotations, and covering everything in between. We were just hanging out, and every time he said something, I felt myself falling more and more in love. We carried on our talk after I brought some food because I didn’t want our time together to end too soon. There was an electric spark, a connection. But it stopped just as suddenly as it had begun. He had to go, so I was left with a story without a resolution and a half-finished symphony.
I was struck with a wave of thoughts as I watched him disappear. I felt overwhelmed with melancholy, hope, and an endless sense of alternatives. Perhaps there would be more to our story — like the drama I enjoyed. Perhaps in the future, our paths will meet again and our dreams will come together.
Part Three: Epilogue
I took a seat in the living room and watched Love Me, Love My Voice again.
In the drama, Gu Sheng’s narrative was beautifully resolved when she found her happy ending with Qiang Qingci. But for me, my own conclusion was still unwritten and unknown. I suddenly realised, as the last episode aired on television, that sometimes the journey itself is more important than the end destination. My heart feels heavy for a future chapter, even though our first meeting might not have made a lasting impression on him.
Who knows? Maybe in the future, Biru and I may get to collaborate on writing our own original tale.
