We Were Almost Something (Almost) 

We were never officially anything.

But we were also never nothing.

There were good morning texts that felt intentional.

Late replies that came with explanations nobody asked for.

Conversations that started casually and somehow lasted until midnight.

We laughed a lot.

Too much, actually.

The kind of laughing that makes you forget to check the time and ignore common sense.

I told myself not to overthink it.

So naturally, I overthought everything.

The way he used my name.

The way he remembered small things I casually mentioned once.

The way he disappeared for hours and returned like nothing happened.

We had chemistry.

Or maybe just really good imagination.

Sometimes, the conversation felt like a romantic comedy buildup.

Other times, it felt like a trailer that never turned into a movie.

I rehearsed conversations in my head.

Casual ones.

Cool ones.

Conversations where I definitely did not sound emotionally invested.

In reality, I typed.

Deleted.

Typed again.

Then sent something safe and boring.

He would reply with something charming.

Effortless.

Unaware of the emotional Olympics I had just completed.

There was never a confession.

Never a dramatic moment.

Just a slow realization.

One day, the replies became shorter.

The jokes needed effort.

The silence grew comfortable — for him.

I noticed first.

Of course I did.

We didn’t fight.

We didn’t argue.

We just… faded.

And that was the strangest part.

Because how do you grieve something that technically never existed?

We were almost something.

Almost is a dangerous place to live.

Close enough to imagine everything.

Far enough to deny it meant anything.

Sometimes I still think about it.

Not with sadness.

More like mild embarrassment.

Romantic comedy logic says it should have worked out.

Real life laughed and said, “Nice try.”