Every Sunday morning, the church bells rang through our little village. Their sound carried across the fields, soft and steady, waking me before the sun fully rose. I always meant to be early, but somehow I never was. By the time I reached the church at the top of the hill, I’d already be running.

Camila was always there first. She stood near the altar, arranging flowers or handing out hymn books, her white ribbon glowing in the morning light. She never rushed, never looked tired. Everything about her felt calm the kind of calm that made the noise in my head go quiet.

I liked to think I came for the sermons, but the truth was, I came for her.

When I slipped through the church doors, she always noticed. A quick glance, a soft smile, a small shake of her head that was all. I didn’t need more. Even when she looked away, the air felt different, lighter somehow.

We had known each other since we were kids. The same small school, the same church, the same dusty roads after rain. She was a year older, but it had always felt like more. She knew how to stay calm when things went wrong, how to talk gently when everyone else raised their voice. People listened to her. I always did.

After mass, when most people left, we stayed behind to help the caretaker. She worked quietly, moving from bench to bench, making everything neat again. I tried to help, though most of the time I just watched. The light from the stained-glass windows covered the floor in colors red, blue, gold and I thought she looked like part of it.

She laughed sometimes, usually at something clumsy I did. It wasn’t loud, just soft and quick, but it always stayed with me. That laugh had a way of filling the empty church better than any hymn.

I didn’t know when I started feeling different around her. Maybe it was always there, waiting to grow. She’d been my friend, my classmate, the one who lent me pencils and scolded me when I forgot my homework. But somewhere along the years, she stopped feeling like a habit and started feeling like a heartbeat.

On the way home, she walked ahead as always. The road stretched between rice fields, the sun warm on our backs. She talked about something,school, choir, I don’t even remember but I barely heard. I was busy memorizing the sound of her voice.

I wanted to tell her that her smile stayed in my mind even when she wasn’t around. I wanted to tell her that sometimes, when the church bells rang at night, I heard her laughter in them. But I didn’t. I just walked beside her, pretending nothing had changed.

When we reached the road that split toward our homes, she waved and smiled again before leaving. I watched her walk away, her ribbon catching the wind.

That evening, as the bells rang again for prayer, I sat by the window. The sky turned orange, the fields glowed, and everything felt still. Somewhere far off, I could hear the faint sound of her voice, or maybe I just imagined it.

I whispered her name softly, not because I wanted her to hear it, but because I wanted to remember how it felt to say it.

“Camila.”

It was just her name, but it carried something I didn’t yet understand something that hurt and comforted me at the same time.

Maybe love begins like that quietly, without warning, between two people who’ve known each other forever. Not in grand moments, but in small ones. In the sound of bells. In the space between laughter. In the way sunlight catches someone’s hair and makes you believe in things you can’t explain.

That was the day I realized it the bells didn’t just call me to church anymore. They called me to her.

The days in school passed slowly, but seeing Camila always made them feel lighter. She was one year above me, but we studied in the same building, so I saw her often. She always had friends around her, laughing about something or teasing someone.

One afternoon, I was walking back from the playground when I heard my name. Camila stood near the classroom door with her friends, smiling in that mischievous way she had. I knew that look.

Later that day, I found her waiting by the steps, pretending to check her notebook. She looked up, pretending to be casual. “Ethan,” she said, “someone told me a girl in my class likes you.”

I froze. My heart started racing for no reason. “Who?” I asked, trying to sound normal.

She didn’t answer. She just laughed, shaking her head. “Never mind. You’d get shy anyway.”

She walked away, still smiling. I stood there, confused part of me embarrassed, part of me wishing the girl she talked about was her.

After that, she teased me often. Sometimes about my handwriting, sometimes about the way I got nervous when teachers asked me questions. But every time she laughed, I laughed too. I didn’t mind being the joke if it made her happy.

One day, after mass, I saw her talking to a friend near the church gate. The evening light fell softly on her face. She looked at peace, like she belonged there. When she noticed me, she smiled again that same smile that made me forget what I was doing.

I started realizing it then how much she meant to me. It wasn’t just her laughter or her teasing. It was the way she made ordinary moments feel like something worth remembering.

She probably thought I was still the same kid who followed her around years ago. Maybe I was. But now, everything felt different. When she laughed, I felt proud. When she walked away, the day suddenly felt quiet.

That evening, I walked home alone. The sound of the river nearby mixed with the church bells ringing in the distance. The air was cool, the road empty. I kept thinking about her words about the “girl who liked me.”

I smiled to myself. If she only knew how I felt, she’d probably tease me twice as much.

At night, I couldn’t sleep. Her face kept coming back her hair tied with that same white ribbon, her eyes bright, her laughter soft but sharp enough to stay in my chest.

That was when I knew I had fallen for her completely. It wasn’t loud or sudden. It just happened quietly, between teasing and smiles.

She thought it was just a joke. But for me, it was the start of something real.

“She teased me like it was nothing, laughed like it was just another day, but for me, every word, every smile, every glance felt like a memory I never wanted to lose. Maybe she’ll never know how deeply her laughter stayed with me… but that’s okay. Sometimes love isn’t about being loved back,it’s about feeling lucky just to love her at all. 💫❤️”

It was strange how quickly time passed that year. Days turned into weeks, and before I knew it, Camila’s class was preparing for their final exams. I didn’t like to think about it much. The idea of her leaving school before me made my chest feel tight.

We still saw each other almost every day at school, at church, or on the walk home. She always had something to say, some little story to share, or a small joke that made me laugh even when I didn’t want to. Sometimes she’d toss a small pebble my way and say, “Wake up, daydreamer,” when I got lost in thought. She didn’t know that most of my thoughts were about her.

It started small staying a bit longer near her classroom, waiting just to walk part of the road with her. I didn’t even realize what I was doing at first. I just knew I felt better when she was around.

One afternoon, we were sitting on the church steps after choir practice. The sun was setting, and the light fell golden across the courtyard. She was quiet for once, staring at the sky. I wanted to say something, but my throat felt dry.

“Camila,” I said finally, just to hear her name.

She turned to me and smiled. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, looking away. She laughed softly.

Moments like that made my heart ache in the best way. I wanted to tell her what she meant to me, but I didn’t have the courage. What if she laughed? What if she didn’t feel the same? I was scared to ruin what we had.

Sometimes, when I walked home alone, I’d imagine what it would be like to hold her hand or tell her how much I liked her. But when I saw her again, all my words disappeared.

One Sunday, during church service, I watched her from across the pews. She was singing with her eyes closed, her hands held together in prayer. There was a calmness about her that drew me in every time. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

That’s when it truly hit me. This wasn’t just a passing crush or admiration. It was deeper. I wanted to be part of her world, to protect her, to see her smile every day.

But love, I realized, wasn’t something you could just say out loud and expect everything to fall into place. It was quiet patient. Like a prayer you kept in your heart, hoping someday it would be heard.

After church, she walked up to me and handed me a small folded paper. “Your lyrics were nice today,” she said. “I fixed a few lines for you.”

I took it, pretending to read, but I could barely focus. The note smelled faintly like her perfume soft, sweet, familiar. My chest warmed just from holding it.

That night, I kept that paper under my pillow. I must’ve read it a hundred times. It wasn’t even about the song anymore. It was about the fact that she had thought of me cared enough to write something for me.

Days went on like that simple, small things that meant everything. A smile shared across the classroom. A quick wave after mass. A teasing remark that made me blush. I started collecting every little moment with her like they were treasures.

I didn’t know what the future held. I didn’t even know how long she’d stay around once she finished school. But I knew this no matter where life took her, a part of me would always stay with her.

I once heard someone say that love makes you brave. Maybe that’s true. But in my case, love made me quiet because sometimes silence felt safer than words.

Every night, before sleeping, I’d think about her and whisper a short prayer:

“God, please keep her smiling. That’s all I want.”

That’s how I learned what real love feels like not loud, not dramatic just steady, gentle, and endless.

“I never told her how I felt, but maybe love doesn’t always need words. Sometimes it’s in the small things, the way you wait for her after school, the way you smile when she laughs, the way you pray for her in silence. That’s how I loved her,quietly, but with everything I had. 💫💔