I've loved Rose since I was twelve.
Not in the way kids love their favorite food or a silly crush. Mine was quieter. It lived in the way my chest tightened when she laughed, in the way my eyes lingered on her back just a second too long when she walked ahead of me. It lived in silence buried under layers of self-control and cowardice.
Rose never noticed or maybe she did, and she was just too kind to say anything.
It was early spring now our last year of high school. The cherry trees were starting to bloom again, but the air was still cold enough to bite your fingers if you forgot gloves.
We sat on the rooftop, our usual spot eating bread from the corner bakery. She always picked strawberry. I never liked it, but I bought the same one just to match her.
She unwrapped hers slowly, careful like always. Everything she did had grace. Like she wasn't trying like it was just part of her.
"You're staring again," she said softly, eyes still on the horizon.
"I'm not," I replied, tearing a piece of bread and popping it into my mouth.
"You always do when you're quiet."
I turned away, cheeks burning. "You're imagining things."
She giggled, the sound like wind chimes.
Rose never teased to be mean. She just... saw things. Felt things. She always had.
"You've been weirder lately," she said, brushing a strand of her black hair behind her ear. "Are you nervous about graduation?"
"Not really."
"Liar."
She leaned closer, her arm brushing against mine. I stayed still, afraid I'd flinch if I moved. Afraid she'd hear my heartbeat screaming her name.
"I just..." I started, but the words crumbled in my mouth.
How do you tell someone you've loved them for years? That every moment feels like both a blessing and a curse? That if they ever walked away, you'd lose something you never even had the right to keep?
She tilted her head. "What?"
"Nothing."
She stared at me for a second, her smile fading just slightly, like she could feel something cracking between us.
I looked away again.
The wind picked up, scattering petals across the rooftop. Rose watched them dance in the air.
"You know," she said finally, "when we were kids, I used to think you hated everyone."
"I still do."
She laughed. "But you never hated me."
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
Because it wasn't hate. It had never been.
It was love.
And it was burning me alive.