school life one side love

The soft golden rays of the afternoon sun filtered through the window of our classroom, casting a warm glow on the rows of desks. Mahabuba sat beside me, her head bent over her notebook, scribbling away as we worked on a group project. She looked so focused, her dark hair falling in gentle waves over her shoulders. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched her, my heart doing its usual flutter.

Mahabuba wasn’t just my classmate; she was my best friend. We had known each other since sixth grade, sharing secrets, laughter, and even fights that never lasted more than a day. But somewhere along the way, my feelings for her had grown into something more.

I loved her.

It wasn’t the kind of love you see in movies with grand gestures and over-the-top declarations. It was quiet, steady, and real. I didn’t know when it had started, but by the time I realized, I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

The problem was, Mahabuba didn’t feel the same way.

She often talked about the boys in our class, how she admired their confidence or their sense of humor. And I knew—deep down, I always knew—that I was just her best friend. Nothing more.

At first, I tried to push those feelings away, pretending they didn’t exist. But the more time I spent with her, the harder it became. I wanted to tell her how I felt, but I was terrified of ruining what we already had.

One day, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. During the school lunch break, I asked her to stay back in the classroom until all the other students had left. My heart pounded as I stood in front of her, the empty room amplifying the tension in the air.

"Mahabuba," I began, my voice shaking slightly. "There’s something I need to tell you."

She looked up from her desk, her eyes curious. "What is it?"

I took a deep breath. "I… I think I love you. Not just as a friend, but… you know, more than that."

For a moment, there was silence. She looked at me, her expression unreadable, and my heart sank.

Then she spoke, her voice gentle but firm. "I care about you so much, and I’m so lucky to have you as my best friend. But… I don’t feel the same way. I don’t think I can ever see you like that."

Her words stung, even though I had expected them. I forced a smile, trying to hide the ache in my chest. "That’s okay," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just… I thought you should know."

For a few days, things felt awkward between us. I couldn’t look at her without feeling the weight of my unreturned feelings. But Mahabuba, being the kind and understanding person she was, didn’t let it stay that way.

One afternoon, she came up to me with a determined look. "Listen," she said, "I know things have been weird lately, but I don’t want to lose what we have. You’re my best friend, and I want us to stay that way. Can we?"

It hurt, but deep down, I knew she was right. Being her best friend was better than losing her completely. So I nodded, giving her a small smile. "Yeah, we can."

Over time, the pain faded, little by little. I realized that loving someone didn’t always mean being with them. Sometimes, it meant being happy just to see them smile, even if it wasn’t because of you.

Now, as we sit in class, laughing over some silly joke, I feel a sense of peace. Mahabuba may not love me the way I once hoped she would, but she’s still here, by my side, as my best friend. And that’s enough.

Because sometimes, friendship is its own kind of love—a love that stays, even when the other kinds don’t.

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