Three dots appear next to his profile photo, indicating that he’s typing.
It takes a long while, but I wait, and wait, and wait…
“Hahaha,” is all it says instead. No emojis, no follow-ups, nothing. Just that single “hahaha” that didn’t even feel like a heartfelt laugh. He was probably just staring at his phone, blinking at it with a blank expression and not knowing how to respond, so he says just that. Just not to appear rude, probably. So I wouldn’t accuse him of seen-zoning my messages.
I type in another message just so our exchange wouldn’t end. Stares at it for a while, pondering whether I should press send or not. Backspaces a few times, corrects my grammar and typographical errors. Ends up erasing all of it, and typing out a new message, fingers moving over the phone keys swiftly. Stops typing altogether and deletes everything and closes the app. And pretends the conversation never happened.
(Pretends that I’ve never felt anything, at all.)
I get up, check my phone. It’s 5:45am and I’m too lazy to take a bath, but I do anyway because I don’t want to be late for work. The water I splash my face with is cold — too cold for comfort, too cold that I can feel the chill creep in my bones, staying there even after I’ve finished my bath.
I get dressed, eat, check my phone, brush my teeth, check my phone. I’ve been doing it for so long that it’s now a routine that I can do even when I’m half-asleep.
I see a good morning text from my mom, as per her personal protocol, and leave it unreplied, going back to my phone’s inbox instead to check if I have any other unread messages.
There’s the daily text message from my network service provider, and the notice for the house bills. But I never once saw any notifications that he’s sent me a text message.
The chill in my bones from the bath earlier cling on to me like it’s holding on dearly for its life. And I leave it, just like I always do.
A pat on the arm. A little teasing, lots of smiles directed in my direction.
But not like the way he looks at her. Never like the way he looks at her.
Lots of chatter. Have you watched this anime? Do you have any new movies? I bought this new card game, have you played it? But there were never questions about how I’m doing. And I wouldn’t know what to say back, anyway.
A long, awkward pause that ends up with both of us scrolling through our phones to occupy ourselves instead. The television drowns out the silence, but in my head, it’s still there.
And then she arrives, and you look up from your phone with that smile that I know she hates but puts up with anyway. The two of you fall into idle chatter, and it’s noisy again. But in my head, it’s still quiet.
A one-sided love, to me, almost came like second nature.
I trusted too easily, fell in love too easily, but rarely forgot, even the shitty memories stored in my head. I’d remember the littlest of things — smells, hometowns, little habits, pet peeves — as if every fiber of my body is attuned to that person. Force of habit, I guess.
And this, I guess, would just be another one of those stories I’d store away in my trove of loves lost, and found their homes in other people.
How stupid it is, to fall in love with a person who never thought to show his heart to me.
How stupid it is, for me to expect, when he could never give me the bright love I’d been hoping for.
How cruel it is, to see his eyes always chasing hers when I’m right here, seeing him falling for her.
How cruel it is, for the heavens to show me cinders and smoke billowing from ashes of a love that would never be, when all I had hoped for was to have a hand held in mine
Three dots appear next to his profile photo, indicating that he’s typing.
It takes a long while, but I wait, and wait, and wait…
“Hahaha,” is all it says instead. No emojis, no follow-ups, nothing. Just that single “hahaha” that didn’t even feel like a heartfelt laugh.
This time, I close the app and leave him on seen.
And I don’t feel sorry at all.
