She stood on the edge of a silence too loud,

Four years of laughter like thunderclouds—

He was her constant, her shoulder, her light,

But love had been blooming in shadow and night.

They joked, they danced on a teasing thread,

“You two should date,” and he’d smile instead.

He played along with the rumor’s flame,

But never once did he speak her name

As if it mattered.

And yet, he was always with someone new,

A heart unclaimed, a wandering view.

While she watched with a smile stitched in pain,

Telling herself, Don’t hope, refrain.

Because he was her world in a world gone cold,

No family, no roots, no hand to hold—

But his.

What if confessing meant losing it all?

What if love was the push before the fall?

What if silence was safer than truth?

But what if hiding it murdered her youth?

Each glance from him lit fire and dread,

Each touch made her question the words unsaid.

She stood in the doorway of change and chance,

Heart in her throat like a final dance.

The truth in her chest burned through the fear—

“I love you,” she said, too soft to hear.

But he did. And he smiled, eyes warm and wide,

No games, no masks, no need to hide.

He reached for her hand and whispered low,

“I’ve been waiting for this gamble, you know.”