The Words I Never Said

Karina’s never cried before. At least, not that I’d ever seen.

The day the bullies tore up the stuffed giraffe that her best friend gave her before moving away to another middle school, I watched as she slowly knelt onto the dirt, bare knees pressed against the tiny pebbles that stuck to her skin.

“I can help you fix it,” I choked, my eyes and hands stinging.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, clutching the torn cotton to her chest. “I don’t think it can be fixed.”

The day we snuck out of class early before the final bell rang, just so that she could surprise her then-boyfriend with a handmade birthday present before his big football game, only to catch him holding hands with the cheer captain in the hallway, I watched as the perfectly wrapped gift box fell to the ground, the soft thud infinitely louder than the gasp that escaped her mouth.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” I hissed under my breath as a pair of promise rings and a hundred hand-written notes detailing exactly why she loved him spilled onto the floor like a pile of dry autumn leaves.

“Forget it,” she said softly, picking them up one by one. “Don’t make a scene.”

The day she sprained her ankle falling off a stool after reaching too far for a bag of coffee beans that our co-worker had spitefully stuffed deeper into the cabinet than necessary, I carried her home on my back as she pressed a melting pack of ice against her skin with one hand, while her other arm slung around my neck like a second apron.

“Does it hurt a lot?” I asked, feeling her flinch against the back of my head with every step I took.

“Not as much as my pride,” she said, lips curling into a smirk. “Do you think I’ll be remembered as the falling barista?”

The day her dog Meeko died, we dug a small grave together underneath the freezing sleet to bury a small box filled with a goodbye letter, all of his collars growing up, an old Christmas sweater that she got him as a puppy he refused to wear, and a few of his frayed toys that even I recognized from all those years of playing fetch in her backyard.

“He had a really good life,” I murmured over the endless downpour, my knees drenched in mud as I straightened the little wooden marker that wouldn’t stop wobbling in the wind.

“The absolute best,” she said quietly, patting the wet earth one last time with her small, blistered hands.

But then came today. The day that would forever seal our fates.

The reception had mostly emptied, the live band still sweeping the room with the melancholic harmony of cellos, violins, and a large white piano that sat in the center of the room where Karina had walked out earlier in her white evening gown, undeniably even more gorgeous than she looked at the altar.

I couldn’t help but gasp at the sight. I didn’t need moments like these to remind me she was the most beautiful girl in the world.

“There you are,” she said, her sweet voice cutting through the soft strings. “Running away from me now?”

“I’ve been in the same place all night. You’re just too busy being the perfect bride, getting pulled in every direction.”

She smiled and reached her hand out. “How about one last dance before the night ends?”

My fingers found the familiar curve of her waist, and as we fell into a slow, swaying rhythm, the entire room began to fade away, leaving the two of us alone in our own little world filled with echoes from all those years of laughter and tears and joy and fear.

“You look beautiful tonight.” The words slipped out my mouth as I watched our entire childhood replay before my eyes, right inside of hers.

“And yet you want to leave.”

“I have an early flight tomorrow,” I lied.

She tilted her head, brows furrowed. “I still don’t understand why you’re moving so suddenly. I mean, I get it, it’s your dream job—but why Paris?”

I shrugged. “It’s something new. I need a change.”

“Since when did you like change?”

I knew that she saw right through my lies. That I wasn’t looking for change; that I hated it, in fact, even though change was one of the only two things constant in my life.

And tonight, it was time to say goodbye to the other: her—the girl I’d loved before I even knew what love was.

“Can you at least promise me you’ll come back to visit?” she said, as if silently begging me not to go.

“Maybe once in a while.”

She frowned. “You better. Who’s going to listen to my horror stories at work? Who’s going to tell me everything’s okay when it isn’t? Who’s going to understand my jokes without me having to explain them? Or sit on the kitchen floor with me at 2am to complain about how unfair the world is?”

I looked over to the side, to the man across the room laughing with her grandmother. “Your husband.”

I’d always wanted to hate him. I spent years desperately searching for a flaw, a crack in his mask just to justify why he wasn’t good enough for her—why no one deserved her, including him.

But I found nothing. He was kind, smart, patient, and most of all, he loved her proudly. There was nothing in the world more clear. And so I hated that instead.

“I’m happy for you,” I finally forced out.

Silence fell between us; a million unspoken words drowned out the music as she simply looked at me, as if searching for something in my eyes. Permission, perhaps.

“Do you ever think that… in another life, this could’ve been us?”

“All the time,” I finally confessed. “But I was a coward in this one.”

She closed her eyes. “So was I.”

It was the first and last time I’d ever seen Karina cry.

Not because of something I’d said.

But perhaps because of the lifetime of words we’ll never get to say.