The Songs I Never Sang

The rain fell in sheets across the empty park as Marcus stood beneath the old oak tree, watching her silhouette through the café window. He could still feel the weight of her in his arms from three summers ago, when they'd kissed under this same tree during an unexpected downpour. Her laughter had filled the spaces between raindrops as water streamed down their faces. He remembered how she'd said it was perfect – just like in the movies.

Marcus shifted the weight of the portable speaker in his hands. The same one he'd carried to her apartment building last Valentine's Day, where he'd stood beneath her window playing their song until her roommate had opened the window instead, apologetically explaining that Emma wasn't home. He hadn't known she was on a date with someone else.

His notebook sat heavy in his jacket pocket. It contained dozens of songs he'd written for her over the years – lyrics that captured the light in her eyes when she smiled, the way she twisted her hair when she was nervous, how she always smelled like vanilla and citrus. He'd performed one at her birthday party last year. Everyone had called it beautiful. Emma had hugged him and whispered "thank you," but there was something distant in her eyes.

Now, he watched as a man in a crisp button-down shirt joined her at the café table. Even through the rain-streaked glass, Marcus could see the casual intimacy in how their hands touched across the table. He recognized the smile she gave – wide and unguarded – the one he'd spent years trying to earn for himself.

Emma had once told him about her dream trip to Paris, how she wanted to see the Eiffel Tower lit up at night and eat croissants by the Seine. Last summer, he'd saved for months to take her there as a surprise. She'd cried when he showed her the tickets, said it was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for her. They'd had a magical week together, but when he finally gathered the courage to tell her how he felt under the twinkling Parisian lights, she'd gently explained that she valued their friendship too much to risk changing it.

The man in the café leaned forward and kissed Emma's hand. She laughed – that full, uninhibited laugh that had always made Marcus's heart soar.

Marcus looked down at the speaker in his hands, then at his rain-soaked shoes. He placed the speaker carefully beneath the tree and turned to walk away. The songs in his pocket would remain unsung tonight.

Sometimes loving someone meant learning to walk away, even when every step felt like walking on broken glass. Perhaps true love wasn't about grand gestures or perfect movie moments. Perhaps it was simpler and harder all at once – wanting someone's happiness even when you weren't the source of it.

As he reached the park gate, Marcus took one last look at the café window. The rain had finally stopped, and a weak shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds, illuminating the scene he was leaving behind.

"In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of those we loved too deeply to disturb their happiness."

-S.B.