That night, for the first time, I wrote in my diary,
“I like Josh. I like Josh.”
Then Sarah came along. As they grew closer,
since my only interaction with her was through
him, I only mentioned her once, a single sentence: “Josh… likes Sarah Miller.”
After the letter incident, things between Josh and me deteriorated. Every argument chipped away at my feelings. Just as my crush had
blossomed subtly, it withered without fanfare. I thought my secret was safe. I hadn’t expected
him to find my diary when my dad asked him to
help assemble a new bookshelf.
I can still see the look on his face, the mocking
glint in his eyes as he held up my diary. His
voice was ice cold. “You liked me?”
I looked at the diary in his hand, silent for a
moment, then admitted, “Yes. I did.”
My calmness seemed to infuriate him. He threw
the diary at me, his voice rising. “And that’s
why you took the letter?”
<
The hard cover grazed my cheek, a sharp sting.
In that moment, I realized I didn’t like him
anymore. Looking at my diary, the repository of
my secret feelings, lying discarded on the floor,
I felt… nothing.
I picked it up, dusted it off, and apologized
sincerely. “I’m sorry, Josh. I shouldn’t have
taken the letter. I shouldn’t have interfered. And
I shouldn’t have… liked you.”
He wasn’t satisfied. He scoffed, turned, and
walked away, leaving me with those words that
would haunt me: Jealous. Manipulative. Toxic.
The truth was, even when I liked him, my
friendship with him mattered more. I hadn’t
taken the letter to keep them apart. I just
wanted him to get the results he deserved after
twelve years of hard work, to make his decision without being swayed by emotions. I’d merely
postponed his choice by a few days.
<
I’d never been jealous of Sarah. I knew you couldn’t force love. If they were meant to be, I would have been happy for them. And I would
have continued on my own path. I didn’t need Josh to be happy.
Now, the course had been corrected. I was
back on the right track. This time, I didn’t take
the letter. But I also didn’t deliberately avoid
Josh. Until the exams, everything was the same
as before. But after four years in different
worlds, we barely spoke at the reunion. The
growing distance didn’t bother me. I didn’t try
to bridge the gap.
Until his mother got sick.
My mom took me to visit her in the hospital.
After dropping off some fruit, I sat in the
sterile–smelling room, listening to their
conversation. I stepped out to take a phone call.
On my way back, I saw Josh by the flowerbed.
He wore a black jacket, his face etched with
