Too Late
She bit her lower lip, careful her disappointment would not show on her face.
"He's not coming," her friend said. He's not coming, she repeated in her head.
"He was with a girl yesterday," her friend said while staring at her, waiting for her knee-jerk reaction.
Damn him, she thought as she flashed the most genuine smile she could make out.
"Wow," was all she could say.
She was caught in a world of illusions--of him liking her, of him beholden to her somehow--she was trapped somewhere in her head, she had locked herself up, sustaining her little world with lies and stories she made up.
She would never admit to it, no, she would never let anyone take a peek.
"Let it go, he's past liking me," and she choked on "I'm fine." She wasn't. She knew she wasn't. She was afraid her friend would see through her lie.
She knew she would regret all the chances she had for telling him she likes him. She knew there would be no other chances left. She knew it would be too late to ask him to reconsider his feelings for her. She would not beg him to.
"Do you still like him?" her friend asked. "I do," she murmured, and took a sip of her cappuccino.
Her friend stared. The stare burned her. She felt how pity flowed in her friend's head, how her friend was confused on what offer of comfort to give her.
"Just let him be. I'll move on, I know," she pursed her lips and hoped it would form a smile. She knew it would take time.
She knew she would eventually move on, but her knees trembled knowing it would not be soon.
"He's not coming," her friend said. He's not coming, she repeated in her head.
"He was with a girl yesterday," her friend said while staring at her, waiting for her knee-jerk reaction.
Damn him, she thought as she flashed the most genuine smile she could make out.
"Wow," was all she could say.
She was caught in a world of illusions--of him liking her, of him beholden to her somehow--she was trapped somewhere in her head, she had locked herself up, sustaining her little world with lies and stories she made up.
She would never admit to it, no, she would never let anyone take a peek.
"Let it go, he's past liking me," and she choked on "I'm fine." She wasn't. She knew she wasn't. She was afraid her friend would see through her lie.
She knew she would regret all the chances she had for telling him she likes him. She knew there would be no other chances left. She knew it would be too late to ask him to reconsider his feelings for her. She would not beg him to.
"Do you still like him?" her friend asked. "I do," she murmured, and took a sip of her cappuccino.
Her friend stared. The stare burned her. She felt how pity flowed in her friend's head, how her friend was confused on what offer of comfort to give her.
"Just let him be. I'll move on, I know," she pursed her lips and hoped it would form a smile. She knew it would take time.
She knew she would eventually move on, but her knees trembled knowing it would not be soon.