Chapter 65: The Space Where You Used to Be

"You can miss someone even when they're standing right there — especially when their eyes no longer see you."

Dear Diary,

There's a space beside me where Andrew used to stand.

Not physically. He still walks past my house.

Still waves sometimes with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Still says "hi" in a tone that sounds more like goodbye.

But inside me?

He's... fading. Or maybe hiding.

And I can't tell which is worse.

This morning, I waited by the window again.

The usual hour — 7:12 a.m.

That's when his door creaks open and the scent of fresh cologne dances through the air like a promise.

But today, he left early.

Without knocking.

Without texting.

Without... me.

I almost laughed.

Because the silence between us is starting to feel like a new language.

One I never asked to learn.

In Literature class, I wrote his name in the margin of my notebook.

Then I crossed it out.

Then I rewrote it.

Over and over again.

Each time a little fainter.

Jia nudged me. "He's being weird, isn't he?"

I didn't answer.

Because I didn't want to admit it.

That the boy who once made the world shimmer now made me feel like a dim hallway no one wanted to walk through.

Dear Diary,

What do you do when the person you love begins to vanish…

but still stands right in front of you?

We used to talk about everything —

clouds that looked like castles,

songs that made our hearts ache,

even what our dreams tasted like.

Now, even "How are you?" feels like climbing a mountain in glass shoes.

I tried today. I really did.

After school, I caught him by the lockers.

His hands were tucked in his pockets, eyes shadowed by something he wouldn't name.

"Do you still want to be my friend?" I asked, trying not to sound like I was begging.

He hesitated.

"Of course I do."

But "of course" sounded more like "I guess."

Like someone saying yes to a party they don't want to attend.

So I walked away.

Pretended my heart wasn't shivering in my chest.

And when I got home, I didn't wait by the window.

I wrote in this diary instead.

Because at least paper listens.

At least ink doesn't shrug.

Dear Diary,

They say love is patient and kind.

But no one warns you about the parts where it gets quiet —

where it bleeds softly beneath the surface,

unnoticed,

unspoken,

unresolved.

I don't know what Andrew is thinking.

And maybe I'm too scared to ask.

But tonight, I miss the boy who used to wait for me at my gate.

The boy who saw poems in my eyes and stars in my silence.

Where did he go?

Where is my Andrew?

– Wunor 🌫️