I heard the crowd before I saw him. My teammates were turning around, some gasping, but I stayed focused like Coach told us—eyes on the ball. Then he appeared, dressed in camouflage, walking just like I remembered. Without thinking, I ran into his arms. For a moment, nothing else mattered.
But inside, I was torn. He didn’t know about the late-night calls, the messages, or that I almost said “I love you” to someone else. He believed I waited. Mostly, I did—until I didn’t.
As he spun me around, I caught a glimpse of Micah, standing alone by the bleachers. Someone I never meant to get close to, but who knew this day would come.
After the game, Noah pulled me aside by the old oak tree where we first kissed. Nervous, he proposed. My heart raced, but I couldn’t lie—I asked to talk somewhere quiet.
In his truck by the lake, I confessed I’d talked to someone else while he was gone. We kissed once. My heart was confused. He listened quietly, hurt but not angry. I hadn’t said yes yet—I needed honesty first.
He said he needed time. I nodded, feeling the weight of guilt and loss.
Noah didn’t reach out for days. I saw Micah again at work. We talked, and he said he hoped I’d choose myself—and maybe one day, us.
Then Noah texted, ready to talk. At the lake, he said maybe we were meant to grow apart. No bitterness, just quiet closure.
Weeks later, Micah and I started walking together, no pressure, just two people figuring things out. One evening, he asked if I was still scared.
I smiled. “A little. But maybe that means I’m doing it right.”
Because love isn’t about perfect timing—it’s about being honest and brave enough to say, “I’ve changed,” and let go.