Fourteen steps. That’s all that’s left before I reach my home. We pause, and we face each other. I try to keep in my memory the way you look at me and the way you shyly tuck the strands of your hair on your ear.
“Rhian, good luck with your future endeavors,” I say softly, my voice steady despite the weight of the moment. “I’m sure you’ll be one of the great nurses in Canada.”
Your eyes glisten as you wipe away tears. “Alvin, you’re making me cry. Thank you for being such a great friend.”
“Walk me home one last time, Rhian?”
You nod. “Sure, Alvin.”
Without a word, I hold your hand, letting my fingers intertwine with yours.
We walk together and with every step, I remember the past.
Step One: The first time we bumped into each other in front of that bookstore. Your things scattered to the ground, and I scrambled to pick them up. When I handed them back, you smiled at me, your eyes lighting up. “Thank you,” you said.
Step Two: It happened again—same place, same bookstore, but this time it was nighttime. I helped gather your belongings once more, and this time, I mustered up the courage to ask your name. You told me: “Rhian.” But you never asked for mine.
Step Three: Determined, I returned to the bookstore, hoping to see you again. I was inside, waiting for you. When you finally walked in, I greeted you with a smile. “Do you remember me?” I asked, and you smiled back. “Yes,” you said simply, and my heart leaped.
Step Four: By now, I knew your name, but you still didn’t know mine. I decided to change that. I wrote my number on a note and handed it to you the next time you walked into the bookstore. You looked radiant that day—beautiful and effortlessly captivating. You made me smile and even made my heart race a little.
Step Five: We became textmates. Finally, you knew my name. You called me “Alvin” in a way that made it sound like music, soft and soothing. I asked you about your favorite songs, and we both ended up liking undiscovered gems. I liked that about you. I think I liked you a lot.
Step Six: One day, at the little restaurant near the bookstore, you asked me a question. “If you ever fell in love, who would it be?” I wanted to say your name, to let you know it was you. But I chickened out, brushing off the question with a nervous laugh.
Back to the present. We stop walking. I look at you, and a thousand unspoken words rush to my mind. If only I could go back, I’d do things differently. But life doesn’t work that way. I would have made a wish.
Step Seven: I wouldn’t have wasted time. I’d have told you my name and given you my number the first time we met.
Step Eight: I’d have been braver—flirted with you in person, given you gifts and letters to show how much I liked you.
Step Nine: I’d have answered your question at the restaurant. I’d have said, “It’s you, Rhian. It’s always been you.”
Step Ten: And maybe I would have gently caressed your cheek to show that it’s always been you.
Step Eleven: I’d have held your hand at the basketball game.
Step Twelve: I’d have confessed my feelings.
Step Thirteen: I’d have kissed you.
Step Fourteen: But I didn’t. I held back every time. And when you told me about your dreams of moving abroad to work as a nurse, I knew what I had to do. Loving you meant letting you go.
Now we’re finally here. When we say our final goodbye, you walk away, and I stay behind, my feelings still a secret, words left unsaid.
I’m proud of you, Rhian. You’re chasing your dreams, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. But as I watch you disappear into the distance, I know there will never be twenty steps to turn this goodbye into a hello. And maybe our story is meant to end here.