Almost Us ep 1

Some loves live like a secret, tucked between the spaces of friendship and longing—too fragile to name, too powerful to ignore.

Every day, they walked side by side, laughing like the world belonged to them, yet carrying a silence that neither dared to break. Friends. Always friends.

But anyone watching closely could see it—the way one pair of eyes lingered longer than they should, memorizing a smile like it was a prayer. The way every accidental brush of hands carried a heat that was quickly laughed off, every shared glance lasting a moment too long.

Because on the outside, they were just two people.

But on the inside, at least for one of them, it was everything.

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It started the way most things do—ordinary. A shared table in a crowded café. Group conversations that slowly turned into late-night texts. Jokes exchanged until laughter became familiar, comfortable, safe.

Somewhere between all of it, feelings slipped in quietly. Not with fireworks or loud declarations, but like a whisper on the edge of consciousness. A little warmth here. A little ache there.

One heart began to notice things the other didn’t—the way they tilted their head while reading, how they always ordered too much food but never finished it, how music seemed to follow them everywhere.

Tiny things. Beautiful things. The kinds of things you only notice when someone starts to matter too much.

And soon, friendship didn’t feel big enough to hold it all.

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But the heart is greedy.

It wanted more than laughing across a café table. More than walking under the same umbrella on rainy evenings. More than the goodnight texts filled with memes and casual care.

It wanted the whole story. The kind where two people weren’t just almost.

Yet nothing was ever said.

Because every time the dreamer thought about confessing, reality intruded. The other person would mention someone else—a silly crush, a bad date, the idea of love that never pointed in this direction.

And the dreamer would smile like it didn’t hurt, like it didn’t chip away at something inside. Because how could you explain to someone that every version of love you imagined had them in it?

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One evening, rain poured as they walked home sharing a single umbrella. The wind fought against it, flipping it inside out while they laughed like children.

“You know,” one said, gripping the handle tighter, “this umbrella is holding on for dear life.”

“Maybe the rain just wants us drenched,” the other laughed, hair sticking to a face glowing under streetlights.

And for a heartbeat, as they stood there laughing in the storm, the dreamer let themselves imagine.

Imagine what it would be like if this wasn’t just friendship. If this laughter belonged to a shared home, if hands stayed entwined long after the rain stopped, if this closeness wasn’t temporary.

But the storm ended. The umbrella closed. And reality came rushing back, cold and familiar.

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The thing about one-sided love is that it teaches you to live in almosts.

Almost holding hands. Almost saying the words. Almost being brave enough to risk it all.

The dreamer stayed silent—not because the feelings weren’t loud, but because they were terrified. Terrified of ruining what already existed. Terrified of the possibility that the other person would only offer kindness in return instead of the same kind of love.

So the words never left their lips.

Instead, they came out in different ways.

The way they remembered every little detail, like how the other took their coffee or hated goodbyes. The way they stayed up talking through bad days even when sleep tugged at their eyes. The way they showed up, always, without being asked.

Love, when unspoken, finds a thousand silent languages.

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