3.The Quiet Realization

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. 💫💔

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