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“Somewhere Between Hello and Goodbye”
A one-sided boys’ love story – Henry & Flin
By someone who loved too gently to ever be seen
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We were never loud.
Flin and I were what you’d call… silent friends.
Not strangers. Not best friends.
Just two boys who shared soft eye contact across classrooms, exchanged quiet hellos, and walked home from school a few steps apart.
He never knew the way I memorized the sound of his laugh.
He never noticed how I always sat one desk over — close, but never enough.
And I never told him that in my poems, he had a name.
A place.
A home.
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Our friendship was built on the space between words.
Lunches where we barely spoke.
Library corners where our shadows leaned toward each other more than our bodies ever did.
Flin never had to try.
He was the kind of beautiful that didn’t know it was beautiful.
The kind that never asked to be adored—
but was, anyway.
People liked him.
He was funny in that effortless way.
Teachers praised him. Girls liked him.
And me? I just watched.
From the back.
From the edge of my own feelings.
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Sometimes he’d hand me a snack wordlessly.
Sometimes he’d turn and smile mid-lecture just to share a joke only he found funny.
And I’d smile back —
even if I didn’t get the joke.
Because his happiness was enough.
I convinced myself for a while that those small moments meant something.
But deep down, I always knew:
Flin was never mine.
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We graduated.
No drama. No goodbye scene.
No hug, no confession.
He waved at me across the campus lawn—
one last time.
Like it was nothing.
And maybe to him… it was.
But I walked home that day holding something that felt like a funeral in my chest.
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Years passed.
I learned to live without seeing him.
Learned to fold the ache into other things.
Wrote stories he’d never read.
Laughed with people who never made my heart ache like he did.
I never told anyone.
I never needed to.
And then one day—
a wedding invitation came.
His name printed at the top.
Flin & Noah.
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I almost didn’t go.
But some part of me—
the part that still whispered his name in the rain,
still counted the songs he once liked—
needed to see him.
One last time.
So I went.
Sat in the very back.
Wore a suit that didn’t feel like mine.
And there he was, standing at the altar.
Smiling wider than I’d ever seen.
He looked good.
He looked…
happy.
I clapped with everyone else.
Cheered when they kissed.
And swallowed every word I never had the courage to say.
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He found me later at the reception.
He hugged me.
I froze.
“It’s been so long,” he said.
“I’m glad you came.”
I smiled.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I replied.
Even though I did.
Every version of life where he might’ve been mine.
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He didn’t notice the way my voice cracked.
Didn’t ask why I left before dessert.
He just smiled, like he always had.
And I walked out into the night,
half-broken, half-free.
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I didn’t cry.
I think I stopped needing to.
Because even though he never chose me,
I chose him—
in silence, in secret, in soft, aching devotion.
And I’d do it again.
Because some loves are not meant to be returned.
Some loves are just meant to be felt.
Fully.
Quietly.
Forever.
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To everyone who's ever watched the person they love marry someone else…
You're not pathetic.
You're not weak.
You just loved with a heart bigger than the moment could hold.
And that’s something sacred.
From someone who never said "I love you"
—but meant it every day anyway.
– Henry
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🖤 [This kind of love doesn't needs to be helded but cared forever and it's not scary but beautiful where u can love them forever without break up or expectations]
