The sky was too blue for a day like this.
You'd think endings would come with thunder, with rain, with some kind of cosmic warning that everything is about to change. But no. The sun was out. Birds were singing. And I was wearing a suit that didn't feel like mine.
Graduation day.
People smiled too much. Cameras flashed too often. Everyone was celebrating something I didn't feel like celebrating.
I wasn't ready to leave.
Because leaving meant I'd never see her the same way again.
Or maybe never see her at all.
They called names. One after the other.
I stood in line like a ghost in someone else's story.
When they said mine, I walked across the stage, shook hands, took the paper, smiled for the picture. I think my smile cracked. I hope it did. I want the photo to look like truth.
My truth is this:
I fell in love with someone who will never know.
And today, I let her go.
After the ceremony, the courtyard filled with families and laughter. People hugged, shouted, cried. I stood on the edge of it all, searching for one person.
I saw her, finally.
She stood near the exit, talking to another teacher, smiling. Her dress was light, fluttering in the breeze. She looked like something I wanted to memorize.
And for a moment, I let myself imagine walking up to her.
Telling her everything.
Handing her the letter I'd folded the night before.
Her eyes would widen. She'd recognize the ache in mine. She'd whisper something that would make the world slow down. Maybe even touch my hand.
But that didn't happen.
Because this wasn't a fairytale.
And I wasn't brave.
I watched her turn away, just for a second. And in that second, I walked past her. Close enough to breathe her in. Close enough to say something.
But I didn't.
I just whispered, "Thank you," under my breath.
And kept walking.
I didn't go to the party afterward.
I went home. Took off the suit. Sat on my bed with the sealed letter in my lap.
I thought about everything.
The way she said my name.
The way I memorized her without even trying.
The way this love never needed to be returned to be real.
And then, slowly, I tore the letter in half.
Then again.
And again.
Until all that remained was a pile of quiet paper, full of words the world would never read.
I opened the window My hands felt empty. Like they were meant to be holding something that never existed.
And so I picked up my notebook one last time.
No edits. No drafts. No crossed-out words.
Just one final letter.
"Dear You,"
I saw you today. You were smiling. You looked like peace and summer and everything I'm about to lose.
I wanted to tell you so many things. That you were my quiet miracle. That every day you stood at the front of that classroom, I memorized you without even meaning to.
That I'm not sure who I'll be without the sound of your voice echoing through the walls I built to protect myself.
I loved you. Not in the way boys love in stories. But in the way night loves the stars—silent, distant, endless.
I loved you in the moments you'll never remember. And I will carry those moments for the rest of my life.
Today, I graduated.
But the truth is, I'm leaving without the one goodbye I needed most.
You'll never know what you meant to me.
And somehow, that hurts less than the idea of you knowing and still walking away.
Goodbye, without the goodbye.
Yours almost, always,
Me.
I closed the notebook. Pressed it shut with both hands.
And cried for the first time in three years.
Not because I lost something.
But because I never had it to begin with.
The End.