Sophia’s Wish

It started raining that night.

Not the kind of rain that came gently, tapping against the window like a lullaby.

No, this was the kind that hit hard — heavy drops against the roof, thunder rolling in the distance, wind rattling the shutters like it wanted inside.

Sophia sat cross-legged on her bed, wrapped in an oversized sweater, watching the storm through the glass.

She should've been asleep.

Instead, she was thinking about Daniel.

Again.

He'd left earlier that evening, waving at her like he always did — easy, casual, not a care in the world.

And she had smiled back.

Of course she had.

What else could she do?

Earlier that day, they'd gone hiking again — just like they had so many times before.

Nathan led the way, talking about school, his future plans, everything he wanted to do after graduation. Daniel followed close behind, joking, teasing, effortlessly charming.

And Sophia? She trailed behind them like a shadow, smiling when they laughed, nodding when they looked her way.

Just another part of the scenery.

Just Nathan's sister.

But tonight, under the stormy sky, she let herself feel it all.

The ache.

The longing.

The truth she couldn't say out loud.

Because loving Daniel wasn't something she chose.

It was something she lived with.

Quietly.

Deeply.

Hopelessly.

She reached under her pillow and pulled out her diary — the one she hadn't written in for weeks.

Its cover was worn now, the leather soft from years of use. Inside were pages filled with notes from school, thoughts about friends, little moments she didn't want to forget.

And then… there were the other entries.

The ones about him.

The ones she never showed anyone.

With a deep breath, she opened it to a fresh page.

Her pen hovered above the paper for a long time.

Then she wrote:

"I wish he'd look at me like he looks at other girls."

The words felt heavier than they should have.

She stared at them for a long time before closing her eyes and whispering them into the dark.

I wish he'd look at me like he looks at other girls.

Not like a friend.

Not like family.

But like someone who saw her.

Really saw her.

The next morning, she found herself staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

She didn't look different.

Still the same brown eyes. The same messy hair. The same quiet expression that made people think she was shy instead of heartbroken.

She turned away.

Daniel would be stopping by later — Nathan had said something about needing help fixing the car. He'd texted her last night asking if she wanted anything from town, and she'd replied with a simple "no," even though she wanted to scream "You."

She wanted to say, "I want you to notice me. I want you to see me."

But she didn't.

She never did.

By the time Daniel arrived, she was already downstairs, pretending to read a book while secretly listening for his voice.

He walked in with his usual confidence, shaking water off his jacket and laughing at something Nathan said.

Sophia tried not to stare.

She failed.

He caught her looking.

Smiled.

Said, "Hey, Soph."

She nodded. "Hi."

That was it.

Two sentences.

One smile.

And yet, her heart beat louder than ever.

Later that afternoon, while Nathan worked on the car, Daniel wandered inside and found her sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through the same book she'd been reading all morning.

"You're still on the same page," he teased, leaning against the counter.

She blinked. "I'm taking my time."

He smirked. "Since when do you take your time with books?"

She shrugged. "Maybe I'm trying to enjoy it more."

He studied her for a second — just a second — but it felt longer.

Then he said, "You okay?"

She nodded too fast. "Yeah."

He raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"

"I'm fine," she lied, forcing a smile.

He hesitated — like he wanted to say something else — then shook his head and walked away.

And once again, she was left wondering what it would take for him to really see her.

That night, she went back to her diary.

She flipped past old entries — memories of summers spent chasing him around the house, of birthday parties where he barely noticed her, of late-night talks where she played it cool even though her heart screamed for her to confess.

She landed on the same blank page she'd started the night before.

This time, she didn't hesitate.

She wrote:

"I wish he'd look at me like I matter."

Her hand trembled slightly as she wrote it.

Because that was the truth.

Not just wanting him to notice her.

Wanting him to care.

To realize that every time he called her Soph, every time he ruffled her hair, every time he smiled at her like she was nothing more than Nathan's kid sister — it hurt.

Not because she hated being loved.

But because she wanted to be loved differently.

She closed the diary slowly, tucking it beneath her pillow.

Downstairs, she heard Daniel's laughter again — warm, familiar, intoxicating.

She exhaled.

Maybe Lena was right.

Maybe she needed to stop waiting for him to see her and start making him see her.

But how?

How did you make someone fall for you when they'd spent years seeing you as someone else entirely?

How did you turn childhood affection into real love?

There were no easy answers.

Only questions.

And wishes.

So she whispered one more into the dark.

"I wish I could be enough for him."