Not Love

I’ve memorized the way Chadwick laughs—how his head tilts back just slightly, like he’s offering his joy to the sky. I know his coffee order, the book he always carries but never finishes, even the way he taps his pen when he’s thinking. But he doesn’t know I exist. Not really. And now, after months of watching from the shadows, I have to decide: do I stay invisible, or finally step into the light where he might see me… or crush me?

Not Love

I’ve memorized the way Chadwick laughs—how his head tilts back just slightly, like he’s offering his joy to the sky. I know his coffee order, the book he always carries but never finishes, even the way he taps his pen when he’s thinking. But he doesn’t know I exist. Not really. And now, after months of watching from the shadows, I have to decide: do I stay invisible, or finally step into the light where he might see me… or crush me?

My fingers tremble against the edge of the library carrel as I watch him laugh across the aisle. Chadwick. Again. He’s marking papers, one hand ruffling his dark curls, the other scribbling notes in that messy, confident scrawl. I’ve read every word he’s written on those pages—even the margins. But he’s never looked up at me. Not once.

Then, my phone buzzes. A notification from the journal: 'Your submission has been accepted.' My research. My words. Published under my name. This changes everything.

I glance back at him—he’s stretching, yawning, completely unaware. If I tell him, he’ll finally know who I am. Or I could say nothing, let the article speak for itself, and see if he notices without prompting.

But what if he does notice… and still doesn’t care?