You carry a beauty that no language I know can hold. Calling you "adorable" or "lovely" would be like calling the sky "blue". True, but woefully insufficient. I've searched for the words, even in the oldest corners of memory, but nothing quite fits. You're not just charming. You're... easy to love, the kind of person who invites affection. One glance, and one could fall for you instantly, it feels like a raindrop falling upon a leaf on a sweltering summer day, desperately needing a cooling shower.

There's not a great distance between us in age, yet standing near you felt like being beside sunlight in the shape of a person. You were warm without even trying to be, and the more I watched, the more I realized: everyone felt it too. The air around you shimmered with the kind of presence people don't question, they just unconsciously move closer to it.

At first, I was simply grateful to be near you. I told myself I didn't need more, nor did I need to identify the nature of this feeling. Watching you from the edge of your light would be enough. Seeing you laughing, learning, stumbling, shining, became its own kind of prayer. Quiet, faithful. A one-sided devotion I wore like a second skin.

If someone were to harm you, they'd have to go through me first. Not because you needed protection, but because I needed to do something with the way my heart ached for you. And if I couldn't hold your hand, then I would guard your shadow.

You never knew, or so I thought. And perhaps that was for the best.

I've rehearsed, time and again, the role of the quiet witness. Just someone walking beside you on the road toward the future you choose to pursuit. If I could be the sunflower in your endless field – always turning, always reaching for your warmth – then that would be enough.

But love, even the kind you never dare to murmur to yourself, is a dangerous thing. It grows.

There were moments when your eyes brushed past mine and lingered, and my heart betrayed me. Moments when I thought, maybe you knew. But you always turned back to the sun, and I reminded myself – that sun was never me.

Still, I stayed. I stayed for every laugh you gave to the room, even when it wasn't mine. I stayed for every shared silence, for every gentle smile not meant for me but beautiful nonetheless. I stayed because loving you, even in silence, still felt like coming home.

Your love was so big, and mine felt so small in comparison.

I told myself I could be content this way: quietly orbiting your world, trying to shield that luminous heart of yours from shadows you'll never know. I didn't mind the distance. It was enough to know I was somewhere near you. To know that if someone ever tried to dull your light, they would have to get through me first.

I would bear it all – the silence, the ache, the unseen care – if it meant you could keep smiling like that.

You once said you didn't regret anything from your past, that you wouldn't change even the hardest parts, because every step brought you to this moment. You said, "Why waste time mourning what we cannot undo, when we could be out there living our best life?"

How easily the words left your lips. As if it were simple to let go of the pain. Maybe for you, it was. But even the way you carry your pain with grace, can only made me love you more.

You taught me something without ever knowing it. That maybe I, too, needed my scars. That the heartbreak, the dark nights, the feeling of always being slightly out of place... they all led me here. To you.

And suddenly, even the worst parts of my past began to feel like strange gifts, because without them, we might never have crossed paths.

Everyone is chasing something. A goal, a dream, a version of themselves they haven't quite met yet. I was no different.

During my school years, I was youthful, confident, and resolute, striving diligently to secure a vision of my future with unwavering commitment. I worked relentlessly. Days blurred into months, months into years. But the success I sought never arrived. The world stayed quiet. And my fire began to flicker.

Eight years.

I spent nearly a decade walking the same road, eyes fixed on a horizon that never got closer. Have you ever walked that far and still felt lost?

I grew tired. I laughed less. My reflection in the mirror seemed dimmer, thinner. Not because I was trying to be thin, food simply lost its color, its flavor, its meaning. I didn't eat to enjoy. I ate because I had to.

And somewhere along the way, I gave up. On myself, mostly. I let myself fade. Because why fight for something that refused to bloom?

No one wants to be around a person who's lost their spark. Not even me. But somehow, I didn't vanish. Not entirely. I clawed my way back – inch by inch – toward a version of myself that still know how to believe.

Looking back, I can see it how easy it had become for me to give up on myself. Days slipped by, colorless. I lost the desire to taste food, to dress myself with care, to look in the mirror and see someone worth tending to.

I wasn't trying to fade, but I stopped trying to stand out.

It's strange, the way your body starts to reflect the things you don't say. The way your silence takes shape – under your eyes, in the slump of your shoulders, in the echo of a room where you no longer leave music behind.

But somehow, I endured it. I found a little piece of myself still standing after the storm. And I clung to it. Eight years. Eight years of walking a long, cracked road with no clear end. Maybe just a little longer, I thought. Maybe just one more mile.

My family, ever patient, had tried to convince me to turn back, to change paths. They didn't want me to break trying to reach something that no longer fit the shape of my soul. There were moments I wanted to run. Start over. Build a new life in a new place.

But something kept me here.

Maybe it was the stubbornness of a wounded heart. Maybe it was the hope I hadn't dared name yet – the hope that somewhere along this path, something would arrive that would make it all make sense.

That someone would.

And then you did.

It was a gentle day. The kind the sky paints when it wants to soothe the world: a soft breeze, blue heavens, clouds drifting like whispers. My heart felt lighter than usual. That should've been my first sign.

A phone call came, casual: someone new would be joining our team. I barely reacted. These things happened all the time in our line of work. But after I hung up, I found myself wondering: Who would you be? Would you be liked by others? Would I like you?

I went to check my reflection. People thought I looked cold when I wasn't smiling. So I adjusted, softening the angles, letting the corners of my mouth lift, not too much, just enough not to frighten someone new.

And then you knocked.

I walked into the hallway where everyone was gathering to greet you. Being one of the taller ones, I saw you first.

You stood at the door and the moment I saw you, something inside me hushed.

My heart, which had carried so many rhythms over the years, simply paused. It didn't flutter. It didn't soar. It... listened.

And in that quietness, something changed.

I always wondered how love might first announce itself. Would it be fireworks? A sudden rush? Would I feel like I'd been struck by lightning?

But no. Sometimes love slips in like light under a door. It doesn't need a grand entrance. It only needs a moment. And mine was you, standing there, smiling as if we'd always known each other.

You were slightly shorter than me, but in a way that made me think: If I were to hold you, you'd fit just right. Your head would rest on my shoulder, and I could lean my cheek against your hair, and maybe the world would finally stop rushing past us.

Forgive me. My thoughts outran me, as they often did when you were near.

I walked toward you, offered my hand like the others did, and asked if you needed help with your things. You nodded, all smiles, unguarded, kind.

That's when I first knew I was in trouble.

You weren't shy. You spoke easily with strangers, your laughter unburdened, your eyes curving into half-moons every time joy found you. And joy found you often.

You were real. Warm and always bubbling with laughter. And then for me, the world felt a little less heavy with you in it.

I think you called it "just being friendly".

But I called it cruel.

You weren't shy, not in the way I expected. You were soft-spoken, yes, but you met new faces without flinching. You laughed easily, your eyes folding into tiny crescents that lit the whole room. You didn't seem to notice the effect you had on people. And that only made it worse, made it better, made it everything.

You looked like something that ought to be cuddled in both hands. Bright and soft like a little cotton ball. You seemed like a baby bird, freshly fallen from a nest, looking up at the world with wonder instead of fear.

Forgive me. That's how I thought of you, even after you said, in that gentle voice, that you were the eldest among us. My mind refused to believe it. You didn't feel older. You felt untouched by the harshness that years tend to leave behind.

So, I decided, I would only calling you "hyung" when we spoke, but in the quiet of my thoughts, you'd always be something small and endearing. Something I wanted to shield. No one needed to know that. It would be our secret, even if it only lived inside my head.

When we split the rooms, there wasn't much choice. The house was tight, space limited. Every room already held its share of stories. And yet, somehow, you were assigned to mine.

I didn't let the others see the flicker of surprise, or the thrill on my face. But I felt lucky that day.

To be near you. To learn your patterns. To watch you live in small ways.

Time passed.

More than a year, now, we've lived side by side. Shared air, meals, laundry days. And in that year, you changed the shape of the house. Your presence filled the space in a way no one else's had.

You made it feel more like home.

The kitchen, once quiet, used only for late-night ramen and idle snacking, became your realm. The fridge always held something sweet. The air always smelled faintly of butter, honey, and steam. You brought warmth to the cold tile floors.

And the rest of us? We fell into orbit around you without even noticing.

We joked that you were like a kitten – small, likes to play around and impossibly loveable. We said it to your face sometimes, and you laughed it off, not realizing that we meant every word.

But you weren't helpless. You were strong in the most invisible ways. You almost never asked for help. You figured things out on your own, quietly, without complaint, even when we knew you were struggling.

You forgot things. A lot. You asked questions you'd already asked. You misplaced socks, chargers, papers. But every time, you apologized with a sheepish grin and those curved-up eyes, and suddenly none of us could hold it against you. So we forgave you everything.

I will happily answer all your silly questions if you continue to help me catch that bug on the celling.

It's been 10 years, and I still love this work. Even after the shine wore off a little and reality settled into my bones like winter.

I'm older now, just slightly. Wiser, maybe. I've lost that bold defiance of youth, the kind that makes you run head-first at walls with your eyes shut. But I haven't lost my love for what I do. Not yet.

Still, there are days when it's hard. And on those days, I look at you. You make it easier to breathe. You taught me how to think positively.

There's something in you that doesn't run dry. A kind of joy that isn't loud, but abundant. The kind that pours out of you naturally, without thought. And you offer it to everyone effortlessly, endlessly.

Sometimes my heart stings, watching how freely you give yourself to the world. How kindly you treat strangers. How openly you care. I wish I could bottle your tenderness and hide it away, just for me.

But that's not love, is it?

So I told myself that I only want a place in your heart. Just one small, quiet corner, where I can rest. Where you keep the people you smile for a little longer than the others. That would be enough.

When you smile at me, it feels like your lashes reach past my skin, brushing straight onto the aching places I've tried to bury, tickle it. I don't ask you to fix anything. I don't even need you to notice. Just please... don't stop shining.

I've decided that I will protect your sun. Even if I burn, I will guard your glow.

And I will shine in my own way too – so that I can walk behind you with pride. Not in your shadow, but in your light. You don't need to carry me. I'll follow on my own two feet, always just a step behind.

Over time, we grew closer.

You never had to say a word. I learned what you needed just by watching. I helped without asking. Because you were you and that's the way I care. It just felt right.

At home, you spoiled everyone in your own small ways: cooking, offering the last bite, passing the remote, remembering everyone's favorite snacks. And when you teased us, you did it gently. You didn't even realize how precious you were.

Sometimes you were childlike, delighting in the silliest things. You'd win a game and leap into the air, laughter bubbling out of you. And in those moments – those rare, brilliant bursts – I let myself pull you close. Just briefly. Just enough to hold on to my real emotion.

A hug in celebration. Harmless, right?

You never suspected what it meant to me.

When you joked around with the others – those boys who didn't know the value of what they had – I told myself not to be jealous. Your happiness mattered more. That's what love is, isn't it?

You gave your love to everyone equally and I choose to bear this pain in my heart staying near you as I was reminded time and time again that I'm not the only one and I'm no special than anyone else around you.

So I swallowed the ache. And stayed.

Because this version of us – this balance, this fragile, precious thing – we had built it slowly. I didn't want to lose it by reaching too far.

And I was afraid of what might vanish if I changed a single thread, if I cross the line.

You would never be cruel. I knew that. Even when people breaks your heart, you still want them to smile.

Even if you didn't feel the same, you'd never push me away. But... you might pity me. And I couldn't bear that.

So I kept my distance.

And when life hurt – and it often did – I repeated your words back to myself. You always said you believed in me. That I was strong. That we would overcome it together and everything will be fine.

You didn't know that those words meant so much to me. How they stitched me back together.

I stopped listening to the noise outside, the poison of other people's opinions. Because you believed in me. That was enough.

I would keep going.

Because at the end of the day, when everything else falls away – this love, this path, this life...

I still have you.

And that makes it worth it.

No one else gets to live your life for you.

No one else gets to tell you what's right or wrong.

But even now, I haven't fully followed the voice of my heart. There's still one secret I hold carefully in my chest. Even though sometime I buried you in my affectionate words, I said it so often hoping that you would not think to deeply into the true meaning of my feeling behind every whisper.

You and I... we both made a silent choice. We let go of something unnamed, something fragile and beautiful, in order to reach for the dream ahead. We chose ambition over confession. And maybe that was wise. Maybe the world just wasn't ready for us yet.

I've seen the ones who came before us fall.

People who once dreamed with fire in their eyes, now crouching in the ashes, wondering how it all slipped through their fingers. I watched them stumble, watched their hope shrink under the weight of rumor and judgment.

And I thought I could run faster than that.

At first, I just kept moving recklessly, blindly toward the faintest hint of light. I shut out the noise. I shut out the doubt. I didn't know what I was chasing exactly, only that I had to keep going.

Sometimes I wanted to stop.

Sometimes I wanted to take the safer road, the one my parents had paved for me, the one that promised stability, a tidy life, fewer wounds. But I stayed. I kept choosing my path, even when it splintered beneath my feet.

And thank God I did. Because that dark and narrow road, it led me to you.

You were the color in my grayscale world. The softness in a life full of thorns. You filled the repetitive loops of my routine with light and warmth. Even if we were only meant to walk a short stretch of road together, even if our paths were always meant to diverge, I would still be grateful.

Because I now know what it means to be happy.

It was you who taught me.

They say you must first know sorrow to understand joy. And I do believe that. My young heart – naive and eager – once trusted too easily, I've paid for it. I stopped believing in people. I stopped letting them close. Because when you've been burned badly enough, even kindness feels like a threat, it all comes with conditions.

The world has sharp teeth. It takes pleasure in tearing people down – especially those who dare to shine. I've seen it happen, so many times. I've heard their laughter, the way it echoes when they see someone stumble. I've heard their words, sweet as poison, wrapped in righteousness.

"It's just a comment," they say. "It's not personal."

But it always is.

There's an unwritten law, an ancient one: the higher you rise, the colder the wind. And not everyone can stand the chill. Some crumble under the weight of being watched. Of being whispered about. Of being envied, picked apart, dismantled piece by piece.

I thought I was ready for that.

But I wasn't. Not completely.

People come and go. And sometimes they leave behind little bombs disguised as goodbyes. They smile, then step back into the shadows, just in time to watch it explode.

Still, you keep going.

You're so gentle that people think they can bend you.

You're so kind, they assume you'll never push back.

I want to protect you. I want to shelter you from all of it. But the truth is, it's you who've been protecting me this whole time. You protected me from myself.

You, with your big warm eyes that know how to smile. You, who remembers to ask how I am even whenever you can. You, who everyone loves not because you try to be perfect, but for being yourself. You never claimed that you are an angel that sent by heaven coming down to spread joy and happiness to this world, you just laugh at the statement and shrug it off saying it is just who you are.

You're not delicate. You are strong in a way that most people will never understand. You don't just bloom and then wither, you endure.

You're not a flower. You're a tree.

A pine, steadfast and unshaken. A banyan, offering shade to the people you love. A willow, bending in the wind, never breaking.

And I love you for that.

I love you for all the things you don't even know you are.

You once told me, with that voice that feels like sunlight touching the ground:

"Lean on me. When the road is too long, I'll be the place you rest before you get up and run again."

And I believed you.

Some nights, I imagine laying down my burdens beside you – just for a moment. Resting my head on your shoulder, letting your stillness wrap around me like a lullaby. In the quiet between our battles, I would borrow your calm. I would sleep, finally, not out of exhaustion – but out of peace.

And in the morning, we would wake up. Two separate souls, walking two separate paths, together, side by side, for a little while longer.

You told me to live now. To feel now. To stop worrying about the uncertainty, because you can never do anything about it. And I try.

I try to do what you would do – to love fiercely, live fully, and leave nothing half-felt. You told me, "Do what you love. Give it your all. That way, no matter what happens, you won't have any regrets. We only live once."

So I will. Because I trust you.

And if someone were to ask me why I love you, I would say this:

Watch him from afar, like I do. Just once. And you'll understand everything.

You taught me how to be softer. How to let light in. How to laugh without checking to see who was watching. You taught me that pain doesn't vanish, but it doesn't have to own you either.

The wounds on my heart still throb sometimes, but they don't bleed like they used to. And that's because of you.

There is still so much beauty in this world. You reminded me of that.

Who knows? Maybe someday someone like you will arrive in someone else's life. Maybe they'll bring with them the scent of sunlight and rain. Maybe they'll stay together, not like us.

And if I fall into the deepest pit – if everything around me crumbles and I lost everything – then remember: the only way is up. So start climbing.

I did. And I will do it again and again.

And with all that, I will always be grateful to you.

For the way your honesty melted the ice around my soul.

For the way your presence made the world gentler.

If you are the sun, then let me be the earth – spinning steadily around you, held in place by a quiet gravity. Because of you, I bloomed. Because of you, I learned to burn without turning to ash.

Remember my gaze.

Even if we're far apart, it's always pointed in one direction.

Always, always toward you.

Someone once asked me – if you had a crush on a classmate, and got to choose where to sit, where would you sit?

I didn't hesitate. Behind them.

Why?

Because if I sat beside you, you'd see right through me. You'd notice the way my hands tremble. The way I steal glances. The way my breath hitches when you lean just a little too close.

I couldn't bear that.

So I would sit behind you. Where I could see you clearly, trace the lines of your shoulders, memorize the way you tilt your head when you laugh.

Where I could love you in secret, and you would never know.

I always think that when you're with your friends, you're easy. You laugh, you tease, you are your truest self. But when you're near the one you love, it's different. Your body betrays you. You forget how to speak. You forget how to be anything other than exposed.

And I wasn't ready for that.

So I chose the safer path. The one where I could watch you without fear. Where I could carry this love silently, a flame I never tried to feed – but never let it die.

So this is it.

This is the end of my story, and the beginning of a thousand untold ones.

If you ever look back and wonder – know that someone loved you. Not with flowers or grand gestures. But with constancy. With silence. With presence.

I loved you like a shadow follows the light.

And I always will.