When I Waited for You

 

The warm sun spilled through the leaves, dancing across the garden outside the small tuition centre. Birds hopped from one branch to another, and the air smelled of dust and flowers after the morning sweep. The breeze flirted with the curtains as if carrying secrets.

Inside, I sat with my notebook open, solving equations with half my mind elsewhere. I came every day, and so did she—except Sundays. That was the only day her voice didn’t echo in the small room. Otherwise, her presence had become part of my daily life, as regular as the ticking clock on the wall.

She didn’t come to study like I did. She came to meet the teacher. They were family friends, and her visits were simple and full of joy—talking, laughing, sometimes bringing homemade sweets. She’d sit on the edge of the chair with her hair tied loose, her smile glowing like morning sunlight.

I never spoke much to her, just enough to not seem rude. But inside, I lived entire stories every time she entered the room. Her laugh was my favorite sound, her eyes carried galaxies I couldn’t name.

"I saw the moon in her smile, while I hid my sky behind silence."

I kept my feelings like a secret note in a locked drawer. Hidden. Safe. Scared.
Each evening, I’d walk home wondering what would happen if I told her.
But then, I’d think—Why would she care?
So I didn’t say a word.

Days passed like pages in a diary. She came. She laughed. I loved. And no one noticed.

"I danced in her every step, while my feet stood still in fear."

One day, I made a decision.
I was tired of silence.
That morning, the sun was brighter, the air heavier, as if even the world knew something was about to change.

I reached early, rehearsing the words in my head like a speech. I thought of how I’d begin. Maybe a compliment. Maybe a question. Maybe just “Can I talk to you alone for a minute?”

But fate has a cruel sense of timing.

That day, she didn’t come.

An emergency had come up. The teacher got a call and had to leave urgently. The class ended before it even began. Everyone left in a hurry, except me. I sat alone in the quiet room, looking at the empty chair where she always sat.

"I whispered to the wind that never carried my words to her ears."

I returned the next day, hoping to see her. But she didn’t come.
Nor the next day.
Nor the day after that.

Her absence was louder than her laughter used to be. I kept glancing at the door, expecting her to enter with that carefree walk. But the door stayed closed.

I asked the teacher, pretending not to care too much.
He just said, “She’s dealing with some family stuff. Might be busy.”

I nodded, though my heart ached for more.

"I waited under the sun, while the world changed its seasons."

One evening, a guest came to our house—my aunt. During tea, she casually mentioned something that made my heart race.

“They’re looking for a good match for her,” she said.
Then, a pause. A smile.
“Your name was mentioned.”

I froze.

Was this real?
Was destiny reaching out its hand?

"I was chosen in silence, while my heart screamed for her answer."

For the first time, hope wasn’t just a dream.
Maybe, just maybe, she would come back.
Maybe this was the answer to everything I hadn’t said.

But life doesn’t follow plans.

Just a few days later, I heard that her father had passed away.
Suddenly. Unexpectedly.

The town was quiet in mourning. I didn’t go to her house. I wanted to—but I didn’t want to intrude on her grief. I just stared at the sky that night, as if trying to send her my prayers through the stars.

After that, I never saw her again.

"I stood at the edge of goodbye, without ever saying hello."

She didn’t return to the tuition.

Her voice never echoed through the room again.
The chair she always used stayed empty, untouched.

I kept coming for a while, still holding on to the thin thread of hope.
But every day without her felt heavier. Her absence turned that place into a ghost town.
Eventually, I stopped too.

No goodbye. No explanation.
Just silence.

"I wrote her name in the margins of time, hoping she’d read it one day."

The seasons changed. Life continued.
But I remained where I had always been—waiting, quietly, lovingly.
I didn’t tell anyone about what I felt.
I just carried it like a soft wound, tender and quiet.

Sometimes, I walked by the tuition building. Not to study. Not to meet anyone.

Just to be near the memories.

"I planted hope in the soil of waiting, watering it with dreams."

Love doesn’t need a reply.
Sometimes, it’s just enough to feel.
And I felt.
Every single day.

"I am the silence after her voice, the echo that never fades."

I never told her how I felt.
But if I could, I’d whisper:

I loved you when you smiled across the room.
I loved you when I couldn’t say a word.
I love you now—even when you’re not here.

"I became the poem that no one read, written in the language of longing."

And as sunsets come and go, I still visit the same street sometimes.
Not for her steps. Not for answers.
But for the feeling that once lived there.

"I waited, not for her steps, but for a memory to return and stay."