Daniel
The brutal truth
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She used to think love meant patience.
Every time he ignored her messages but replied to other girls within seconds, she told herself he was just busy.
Every time he laughed louder at another girl’s jokes, touched her arm a little longer, smiled a little softer — she convinced herself it meant nothing. And when he snapped at her, embarrassed her, or made her feel small, he always came back with a simple,
Again.
And again. But there was one person who never smiled at her. His best friend. He watched everything. The way she waited for crumbs of attention. The way she lit up over the bare minimum. The way she defended him when everyone else saw the truth. He didn’t hate her because she was kind. He hated her because she was blind. Because she chose not to see. Because she kept shrinking herself for someone who wouldn’t even stand up for her.
Every time he laughed louder at another girl’s jokes, touched her arm a little longer, smiled a little softer — she convinced herself it meant nothing. And when he snapped at her, embarrassed her, or made her feel small, he always came back with a simple,
You know I didn’t mean it like that.And she forgave him.
Again.
And again. But there was one person who never smiled at her. His best friend. He watched everything. The way she waited for crumbs of attention. The way she lit up over the bare minimum. The way she defended him when everyone else saw the truth. He didn’t hate her because she was kind. He hated her because she was blind. Because she chose not to see. Because she kept shrinking herself for someone who wouldn’t even stand up for her.
You deserve better,he told her once, coldly. But she only shook her head.
He loves me.The best friend looked away, jaw tight.
No,he muttered.
You just don’t love yourself.