Half a Decade, and the Quiet That Followed

Some love doesn’t announce itself.
It stays. It watches. It waits.

Five years is a strange amount of time to carry something unnamed — too long to dismiss, too quiet to explain.
Time moved forward. The world shifted, paused, rebuilt itself. Her heart didn’t.

Love didn’t arrive with intention.
It settled. Slowly. Silently. Like something that had always been meant to stay.

She never blamed him.
That was the hardest part.

There was no promise.
No label.
No moment she could point to and say, “This is where it began.”

It simply existed. The way breathing does.

To him, she was a friend — and he was kind in that role. He never pretended to be more. He never made promises he couldn’t keep. If anything, his honesty was gentle, even when it hurt.

And that is why she never made him the villain in her story.

Because how do you accuse someone for not feeling the same depth you do?

Her love was not born out of expectations. It was born out of presence. Out of listening. Out of noticing the smallest shifts in his voice. Out of remembering things he himself forgot about his own life.

She loved him in a way that asked for nothing, except space to exist.

There were days — like this one — when she wanted to call it an anniversary.
Not to demand anything.
Not to change what they were.
Just to honour what five years had done to her.

She wanted to say the date out loud.
To believe that time leaves marks on both people.
To celebrate it quietly, even if it was only hers.

Instead, she stayed silent.

Five Christmas Eves passed.
Five New Year’s Eves arrived with fireworks for the world and quiet negotiations inside her heart.

Each year, she imagined a parallel universe — not because she was unhappy with reality, but because imagination was the only place her love could stretch freely.

In that world, they walked through softly falling snow, the streets twinkling with lights that reflected like a thousand tiny stars in their eyes.
Their hands intertwined perfectly, as if the city itself had paused to make space for them and the crisp winter air carried the faint scent of pine and cinnamon from nearby decorated streets.
The cold air nipped at their noses, but the warmth between them made it feel like spring.
They laughed under the glow of giant Christmas decorations, stopping to listen to carolers, while the scent of roasted chestnuts mingled with the crisp winter air.

Later, they ducked into the cozy warmth of their apartment, their home, snowflakes melting on the windows.
He draped a blanket around her shoulders, and together they decorated the Christmas tree, teasing each other when an ornament hung crooked.
Twinkling fairy lights reflected in their eyes, soft music playing a melody only they seemed to hear. He lifted her slightly to reach a high branch, and she pressed a marshmallow–sweet kiss to his cheek.
They sipped steaming mugs of hot chocolate, hands brushing again and again, sparks igniting with every touch. He looked at her with a certainty that made her heart tremble — as if choosing her had never been a question, as if all the snow, lights, and the city had been waiting for this exact moment.

In that tiny, suspended universe, surrounded by laughter, light, and warmth, nothing else existed. They felt blessed to have each other — heaven on earth. Not time. Not distance. Not reality. Only them.

In that world, she didn’t have to shrink her feelings.
She didn’t have to pretend dates didn’t matter.
She didn’t have to silence her heart to protect her dignity.

But reality was quieter.

Reality was her replying normally.
Letting the day pass like it was ordinary.
Treating five years as if they were just another memory instead of a presence.

Reality was her choosing not to speak — not because she was afraid, but because she already knew the answer. And loving him meant not putting him in a position where her truth would become his burden.

So she swallowed anniversaries that were never named.
She carried five years inside her chest without asking the world to validate them.

The ache wasn’t in loving him.
The ache was in having nowhere to place that love.

Christmas Eve arrived again — lights glowing, songs repeating, couples celebrating what she never had permission to call hers. She wanted to forget. She wanted to go numb. Not because she was weak — but because feeling had become too heavy to carry alone.

That was the difference.
Between a heart that wanted to be seen
and a heart that learned how to disappear gracefully.

She wondered if she was losing her mind.
Or if love, when left unexpressed for too long, simply turns inward and echoes.

She didn’t hate him.
She didn’t resent him.
She loved him — and sometimes, that felt like the loneliest thing in the world.

Five years.
Not a mistake.
Not a delusion.
Just a heart that loved sincerely in a world that doesn’t always know what to do with such devotion.

Maybe one day, she would stop counting.
Maybe one day, she would meet a love that meets her halfway.

But this love — this one — would always remain sacred.
Because it was real.
Even if it was hers alone.

They say this is the most wonderful time of the year—just like the lyrics promise.
But was it ever wonderful for her?

Maybe not. Because every year, when this season returned, her heart broke a little more. A pain no one ever truly understood. There was a restlessness inside her, a silent battle she kept fighting alone. This time, she wasn’t fighting love itself, but the silence—the words she could never bring herself to express.

She could have enjoyed life like everyone else around her. She could have laughed, celebrated, lived freely. But instead, she chose to dream with someone who was never meant to stay. Those dreams never came true; instead, they slowly destroyed every dream she once had.

Everything she once loved now felt unbearable. Things that brought her joy began to hurt. She was alive, but she wasn’t really living.
Loneliness weighed heavily on her, yet even companionship felt empty. In this love, in this endless fight, she stood alone.

And the question remains—
Were five years enough for that wait?
Or did she lose five years of her life to hope that never chose her back?

NOTE:
It is about time — and what it quietly does to a heart that loves without permission, without certainty, without a place to go.
Some connections don’t end. They simply remain unnamed.
And some love exists fully even when it is not returned in the same form.
This is a reflection on choosing restraint over release, silence over self-betrayal, and dignity over explanation.
It is written for anyone who has loved sincerely, carried it alone, and still refused to turn that love into regret.
Not every story needs closure to be real.
Some only need to be acknowledged.

~AV✍🏻✨