The first time I saw him, he was sitting by the window of a quiet bookstore, scribbling something in a leather-bound journal. His eyes, half-hidden behind strands of silver hair, carried a storm I didn’t yet understand.
I only knew one thing: I wanted to be in his story.
His face as soft as a fluffy cloud, his stares that can rival the raging thunder. The way he looks at me, he looks as if I was someone so insignificant in his life. That lips as red as a cherry, that eyes that looks like it was crafted by an jewel artisan. The eyes that can pull you to a soft yet dangerous world. His hair that reflects light with his soft and fluffy silver hair. Oh how I love everything about him.
I loved the way his fingers danced over the pages of his journal, writing stories that only he could see. I loved the way he tilted his head when he was deep in thought, lost in a world no one else could enter. I loved the way he never quite looked at me the way I looked at him, as if I were a fleeting moment, while he was the eternity I longed for.
He never spoke much of his past, and I never asked. There was something in the way he held his silence that made me think the story was too delicate to touch, as if just speaking of it would shatter the fragile threads holding him together. And so, I let him keep it.
We would sit together, our shoulders brushing ever so slightly, and the world outside the window would blur into something distant, something we didn’t need to worry about. The air between us would crackle with something unsaid, something tender, like the beginning of a love story we were both too afraid to fully start.
His laughter, when it came, was like a soft breeze on a summer day—rare but so incredibly beautiful that it made everything feel right. He had a way of smiling with his eyes, of looking at me as though I were the only thing in the room, and for a moment, I would forget the world entirely.
Sometimes, we would sit in silence for hours, and it never felt uncomfortable. The quiet between us was like a gentle melody, one that didn’t need words to make sense. He would write in his journal, and I would watch, as if mesmerized by the way his hand moved across the page.
"What are you writing?" I would ask, my voice a whisper, not wanting to disturb the peace we had built together.
He would glance up at me, his gaze softening for just a second before he returned to his writing. "Just a story."
"About?"
"A love story."
His words hung in the air, unspoken but full of meaning, as if he were trying to tell me something without really telling me at all. My heart would flutter, a quiet, uncertain thing, unsure whether I was included in the story he was writing.
He never answered when I asked about his love story. He would just smile, his lips curling up at the corners in a way that made my chest ache with longing. And though I knew I would never be able to decipher all the layers of him, I loved him all the same.
I loved him even when he wasn’t looking at me, when he was lost in his thoughts or his pages. I loved him when he smiled at a joke I didn’t quite understand. I loved him in the small, quiet moments, like when he brushed his fingers against my hand just for a second, as if he had meant to hold it but thought better of it. I loved him even when he didn’t say it—because I could feel it in the way he looked at me, in the way his presence seemed to fill every corner of the room when he was near.
I was falling in love with him slowly, without even realizing it. I fell in love with the way he took his coffee, the way he tucked his hair behind his ear when it fell in his eyes, the way he hummed under his breath when he thought no one was listening.
And though he never said the words, I knew.
I knew he loved me too.
But we were caught in a delicate balance—too afraid to admit it, too afraid to step over the line that separated the moments we shared from something that could break us both. We danced around the edges of love, never quite touching it, but never quite leaving it behind either.
There were moments when our fingers brushed, when I thought he might reach for me, but then he would pull away, as if afraid of what it would mean. There were moments when he would glance at me, his eyes soft, and I would catch my breath, wondering if today would be the day he would finally say it. But the words never came.
And somehow, I was okay with that.
Because just being near him, just watching him exist in my life, was enough.
The way he looked at me sometimes… it was like he could see straight through me. His eyes weren’t like anyone else’s—they were like the ocean, deep and endless. When he glanced at me, I’d feel this little jolt in my chest, like he was reading my mind, but not in a scary way. Just... like he got me.
His hair always looked like it belonged in some perfect painting—soft and silver, like the moon on a really clear night. It shined even in the dull light of the bookstore, and I used to wonder if he even noticed how beautiful it looked. I couldn’t stop staring. He never seemed to care, though. His eyes were always focused on something—his journal, or his thoughts, or maybe even the stories floating around in his head.
I loved how quiet he was. I don’t mean like awkward quiet, but like... thoughtful quiet. Like he was always deep in his own world, but I could still be there with him. Sometimes I’d catch him looking at me, and he’d just... smile a little. A soft, almost secret smile. Like he knew something I didn’t, and I wanted so badly to figure it out.
It was the little things, you know? Like how he always turned the pages of his book so carefully, like he was making sure they wouldn’t tear. Or the way he always carried his journal everywhere, like it was a part of him. I started to notice the things he did without thinking—like how his fingers would tap on the table when he was thinking, or how he’d rub his neck when he was tired. It felt like... like I knew him in ways that no one else did.
And every time he’d look at me—really look at me—I’d feel this wave of warmth inside, like maybe I wasn’t so invisible after all.
We didn’t talk much, but when we did, it felt important. Like, when I asked him about what he was writing, he’d always pause, like he wasn’t sure whether to share it. But he did anyway. “Just a story,” he’d say, like it wasn’t anything special, but I knew it meant more than that. Sometimes he’d catch me staring, and I’d look away, embarrassed, but then he’d laugh softly, and that laugh would make everything feel... right.
He had this way of making me feel like I wasn’t alone, even when we didn’t speak. Like just sitting next to him was enough. I’d catch myself leaning in a little closer, hoping he wouldn’t notice, but he always did. And every time, his lips would curve up slightly, like he was hiding some kind of secret.
There was this one moment I’ll never forget—he was sitting by the window, his journal open, but he wasn’t writing. He was just staring outside, like he was lost in the view. And I sat there, watching him, feeling like I was the only one in the world who knew how much he meant to me. He glanced over at me, and our eyes met for a second. For the briefest second, he looked... soft. Like he wasn’t holding anything back. Like he was there, with me, in that moment.
I didn’t know how to say it, how to tell him that I felt this pull, this connection that I couldn’t explain. But I hoped, in some quiet corner of my heart, that he felt it too. That maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as distant as I thought.
And even though we didn’t talk about it, even though we didn’t say the words out loud, I could feel it growing. This thing between us, this thing I didn’t know how to name, but I knew it was real.
It was so gentle, like the world was holding its breath, waiting for us to figure it out. Waiting for me to figure it out.
"Wow, uncle!! Your love story isn't something THAT simple like my mom and mommy's love story! Yours is much more thrilling in my opinion" Aurelia, his little Niece exclaimed with excitement.
"Haha, I know. Your mom and mommy are SOO boring"
"Shhh uncle, don't let them hear that. They'll punch you, my Mom is scary when she gets angry" Aurelia shushed him.
"Okay-okay, want me to continue?" He asked
"YES PLEASEEE???!"
Almost everyday we spent our day just talking about useless love stories, but sometimes we would spend our day just looking at the window, that peaceful scenery. Just sitting together in that room, our silence comfortable, our presence enough. I would catch myself smiling when he wasn’t looking, the corners of my lips lifting every time he shifted his gaze back toward me. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed how gentle he could be, but today, it felt like I saw him in a new light.
I couldn’t help but wonder, if I stayed here long enough, would he eventually say the words? Or would we continue to dance around them, both too afraid to take the step?
Sometimes, when he spoke, it was like he was telling me everything without saying it directly. “I’ve always loved stories,” he’d say, his voice quieter than usual, “but there’s something about the ones you can’t put into words. The ones that stay unspoken.”
I wanted to ask him if he was talking about us. But instead, I just nodded, letting the moment linger. I had a feeling that no matter how long I waited, the words might never come, but I’d still stay. Because in the way he looked at me, in the way he shared these little pieces of himself, I could feel the depth of his affection. And maybe that was enough.
His hand brushed against mine, ever so slightly, but it felt like the world shifted. For a moment, I thought he might actually take my hand, but then he pulled it away. His face was still, almost unreadable, but I could see the hesitation in the way his fingers twitched.
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to. But I was sure that if I just reached out, he’d take my hand and hold it.
We spent more days like that, sharing glances, soft smiles, and lingering moments. It wasn’t love like you’d find in the movies, or in books. It wasn’t grand or loud. It was soft, slow, the kind of love that builds quietly between two people who understand each other without needing to speak.
But, just when I thought things might stay like this forever, when I was starting to feel like I understood him more than I ever had before, the silence between us grew thicker. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was something in the air now, something heavy that hadn’t been there before.
One evening, as the sun began to set, casting a soft orange glow over the room, he stood up suddenly. There was a strange look in his eyes—something like resolve, mixed with a sadness I couldn’t understand.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said, his voice softer than usual.
“Where are you going?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat.
“I just... need to figure something out,” he replied, his tone almost like he was speaking to himself more than to me. “Something I’ve been running from for a long time.”
Before I could respond, he was gone, leaving me standing there, the quiet of the room settling around me like a blanket.
I wanted to ask him what he meant, why he was leaving, why everything felt so different now. But I didn’t. I just stood there, feeling the distance between us grow, not knowing how to stop it.
I felt anxious, I felt like he was going to leave me.. He's not going to leave me.. Right?? That kind of thoughts would run through my head every single day and hour, every single day he wasn't by my side. I felt like it was as if, I was abandoned.
I haven't feel something like this for so long.. Till, is not going to leave me right? Sleepless nights and finally 3 years has passed. Not a single strand of hair of him in the wild. Not even one, maybe he really did left me. I thought while looking through the window but a sudden call brought my brain back to earth.
"Uhh, Sir. IVAN?" Someone yelled.
"Uh yes?"
"You have a package" The postman gave me the supposedly package? "But I didn't order anything?" I asked
"Oh no, it's not an order but a package that was sent to you. You were supposed to receive it 2 years ago on February 14th, but it was delayed due to shipping management so we're so sorry" the postman gave a quick bow and left.
"Huh? Wait, you didn't tell me who sent this!" Ivan ran through the door and yelled. But the postman has already left. "Such a bummer" he thought while examining the package.
"Suspicious." He murmured, the package was packed in such a old fashioned way, it was wrapped in an old newspaper. It has some weight on it like a book was wrapped??
He slowly opened the package, it was as if he was making sure that there was no bomb. And finally he opened it, there was a book and a letter?? The book was famous too, it was written by the very anonymous Author "Metal stick" weird name, I know.
The book's name is "Till my heart stops breathing". Just by the word "Till" he gets reminded of his OWN "Till" the Writer that he once loved. I wonder, where is he right now? The book is about Two lovers who loved eachother, but they didn't confessed while knowing that they love eachother. The one thought he'd have enough time to bring up his courage to confess. The other had a problem, he has a heart problem so he knows that THEY don't have enough time. It's your typical tragic love story.
Ivan read this story because it was recommended to him, It was the talk of the whole internet when it was released. Many people wondered where "Metal stick" is now. An all time writer.
Ivan sighs. "Guess I have another duplicate of this book"
He opened the letter, he didn't read who it was from because why would he? He'll know it inside the letter after all.
The letter contained
"To my dearest Ivan, when I first met you I thought you were the most annoying man I've ever met in this world. But my thoughts failed me when I got to know you better, It was a bit annoying at first knowing I've already fallen in love with you. You with your annoying yet loving smile, I find you as my comfort in this world. The same world that failed me, yet you're here, you're the guy who made me want to live my life to the fullest while knowing that I can't really do that. You always see me writing, you're always asking me what it is, of course I wouldn't tell you. Why would I? The story that I dedicated my life for, you're my Life. The one thing that keeps me safe and happy, I couldn't show it nor express my love to you. But I do love you, I loved you so much. You're my muse and light in the very dark world that I live in. I always see those "How to be loved by a writer" post of yours, without knowing you've already did, you've always been loved by a writer. This writer, ME. I'm so sorry for leaving you without any context, it was immature of me to do that. But leaving you without context is the best thing I can think of, it will hurt you, yes. I've already anticipated that but leaving you while knowing I'm going to suffer in the hospital with a lot of machines? No, I can't do that to you. If you're going to ask "Many machines?" I was born with a hole in my heart, I've been very weak since I was born. I found peace and a very large world in writing, I've been seeking for a muse for a while now. And my heart found you, whenever you talk to me my heart would flutter. Whenever you look at me with those obsidian eyes that shines brightly than the night sky, my heart would skip a beat. Again, I'm so sorry, I dedicate this book that I wrote with you in my head "Till my heart stops breathing" Of course I put my name in it, so you will be reminded of me. Again and again, I'm so sorry My love. Happy birthday!"
Ivan clenched the paper in his hands, tears starts to drop from it. No words can describe how heartbroken he is at this very moment. "So, he didn't left me? He didn't... Right?" Ivan sobbed.
"The end" Ivan smiled at his niece
"HUH?! UNCLE?? THAT'S IT?!!!" Aurelia stomped her little fit. "Is he alive?" She tilts her head.
"No, he's not. I visited his grave just this week"
"I'm so sad, uncle your story is tragic.." Aurelia said while hugged her uncle.
Ivan's voice muffled as he said “He wrote about a love that couldn’t exist because of time. But I would’ve waited forever.”
"Okay, you need to go now Lia. Your mom might get worried"
"Oh shucks!! Uncle you're right, I'm sorry I gotta go!!!" Aurelia ran to the door.
"I wish I can turn back in time.. So I can tell him how much I love him, how much his presence means to me. But I know I can't, so I'll stay here. Only with him in my memories, goodbye my love-Till, I'll see you soon."