Choose your own adventure

“Listen... I have to tell you something.”

I wished it weren’t so gorgeous outside. I wished a raincloud would roll in at that very second. Instead, we were basking in the glow of the most screensaver-worthy sunset I’d ever seen. Just my luck.

I wished the weather weren’t so gloomy. I wished sunbeams would cascade down and shower us with light and warmth, instead of the pouring rain that had taken us by surprise. Just my luck.

I wished we weren’t gazing out over the ocean, frothy waves dancing in patterns only nature could devise, the warmth of golden hour enveloping us only for the scene to be totally wasted. We were in textbook paradise, gazing out at a coastline fit for honeymooners. It was like a goddamn five-star resort. He’d had a glint in his eye when he’d suggested we go for a drive, and a spring in his step when he’d clambered out of the car so we could take in the view. That should have been the first sign that things weren’t going to end well.

I wished the fiercely cold rain weren’t falling quite so hard, pooling around my feet and seeping into the ripped trash bags adorning the alleyway, splashes echoing off the cracked concrete walls surrounding us. We were in the underbelly of the city, the result of a few wrong turns too many on an evening stroll through a city new to us both. I’d been kicking myself for forgetting an umbrella, ferociously wiping away what I quickly learned was not waterproof mascara. But maybe, just maybe, this would-be date wouldn’t end up being such a disaster.

We’d been friends for years now. Someone had once asked if we were involved and I laughed it off, but I couldn’t unsee it after the thought had floated through my mind. A serial dater myself, I’d sworn off love after a series of rather depressing romantic encounters. Maybe I was broken, but love never seemed to make its way onto my priority list. Ever the romantic though, he always seemed to stand a little too close, to hug me goodbye a little too long. I wished I had feelings for him. I would have done anything to have feelings for him.

We’d been friends for a long time, and I’d developed this rather inconvenient crush fairly early on in the story of us. I was pretty used to the charade after a year or two – play it cool, don’t get too excited about hanging out, don’t get too heartbroken when you hear he has a date – but lately, I could have sworn that he held my gaze for a little longer than normal. I wonder if he could tell I had feelings for him. I would have given anything to know if the hints he seemed to be dropping weren’t just figments of my imagination.

I wished the numbness in my heart would dissolve all at once, that I’d be able to see him in a truer light, unobscured by the shadows of my emotional baggage.

I wished I could calm myself down, heartbeat pounding in anticipation, logic chastising me for indulging in my girlish daydream and entertaining the idea that the intentions behind him a friendly walk around the city might be more than purely platonic.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but he was too quick.

I was afraid if I said anything, I might spoil the illusion.

“I’ve been building up the courage to say this for a while now,” he started. Quiet, but with intention, he forged onward in his monologue, breaking my heart with every word.

“I’ve been building up the courage to say this for a while now,” he whispered, sheepishly. I clung on to every world, the universe shifting beneath me as his voice brought to life words I’d been aching to hear.

......

“So, what do you think?” he asked several minutes later, after he’d finished peppering me with sentiments of kindness and love I didn’t deserve. I begged my body to respond, fishing around for the right way to ask what I’d done to prompt such a declaration. I could feel myself crumpling inward, emotions twisted and contorted as the dark void encapsulating my heart spread outward, stifling any ounce of hope for the relationship. My silence must have been enough of an answer, and he’d turned away. A sadness crept onto his features that I hadn’t seen before, the wildfire of reality and crushed dreams sweeping through and leaving only the smoldering remnants of his boyish crush.

“So, what do you think?” he asked after confessing his feelings. He was blushing, his face a canvas of rosy hues that sent a shot of serotonin coursing through my veins. My own face hurt from grinning, a collage of emotions splayed out for the city to see. I’d abandoned any attempt at appearing suave and sophisticated, opting instead to let my deliriously happy heart finally show itself. My enthusiasm must have been contagious, and he reached out for my hand. Our fingers laced together, the spark of a sheepish crush blooming into a full-on flame.

Things would never be the same, which was exactly why I was afraid of this conversation. If I could will myself to feel even a fraction of what he did, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run away and give him the chance to take back everything he’d said. We could pretend like it never happened, return to our state of platonic friendship where everything was easy and I wasn’t the bad guy.

Things would never be the same, and I couldn’t be happier. I wanted to go on dinner dates, to amusement parks, to bookstores, to the supermarket with him. Even the most mundane of tasks sounded like an adventure when he was in the picture. I wanted to run off into the sunset and get started with this next chapter of our newly intertwined stories.

Eventually, I could only think of one thing to say.

Immediately, I said the only thing I could.

“I’m sorry.”

“I love you.”