He loved her for five long years. Every single day, he saw her — at college, at the bus stop, during festivals, in libraries. But not once did he say those three magical words. Not once did he get close to her.

She smiled often. Not for him — but he still felt warm whenever he saw it. Her voice? He never even heard it clearly, yet it echoed in his thoughts. His love wasn’t like the movies. There were no roses, no proposals, no selfies together. Just silence. Pure, deep, painful silence.

He never followed her on social media. He didn’t even know her birthday. But every night, he opened his little red diary and wrote one line — just one. “Saw her today. She wore yellow. She looked like sunlight.”

One day, she wore a red saree. But this time, it wasn’t for a college function. She was getting married. He saw her from the back of the crowd — with eyes that held a thousand emotions, and a heart that shattered quietly.

He didn’t cry. He just walked back home, opened his diary, and wrote:

You were never mine. But I loved you more than words, more than life, more than myself."

That was the final line. After that, the diary stayed locked in his drawer for years.

Time passed. He changed cities, got a job, met new people, smiled in photos. But inside, that silent love lived quietly.

One rainy evening, on a long train journey, he met a girl. They talked. Hours passed. She asked questions. He laughed.

They met again. And again.

Months later, he gave her the red diary. She read every page. And she cried.

You loved her a lot," she whispered.

He nodded, gently. “I did. I still do. But I think I’m ready to start a new chapter. With you.”

She held his hand tightly.

Love never disappears. Some love stays inside us forever — unspoken, unread, unshared. But with time, we learn to carry it, not suffer from it.

He never forgot his first love. But he didn’t let it stop his second.

And though she never knew,

he loved her more than words could say.

And perhaps in another life, she would’ve loved him back