“Usually, I’m good about these things,” Oliver said as he gazed into Layla’s eyes, “but you’re different from anyone I’ve ever known.”

It was a battle from the start, he recalled. They had met only a short while ago and, somehow, Layla went from being a stranger to his very dear friend. In mere weeks Oliver felt more connected to her than anyone he’d come in contact with in quite a while. That’s where the battle began. Where things didn’t make sense, Oliver sought answers. Where things seemed too good to be true, he doubted. Oliver had never been naïve before and he wasn’t going to start now.

Oliver tried with all his might to fight it, that tugging in his gut that pointed his heart to Layla at every free moment of the day. When he experienced joy, he wanted to share it with her. When he was sad, he found comfort in her voice. He enjoyed her company on long walks through the park and he didn’t get mad when she’d fall asleep on his shoulder, snoring loudly during his favorite movie. She was a dear, dear friend and Oliver wanted so badly to cherish their friendship, to keep it safe from the elements of the outside world.

That’s why Oliver was stunned when Layla said that it was over. He was puzzled and overwhelmed and all he could foster up the courage to utter was, “Ok.” But it was not okay. He was not okay. And now, two weeks later, his pride wouldn’t allow him to beg for her friendship, or even scream at her for breaking his heart. So, Oliver stood. He looked into her eyes and searched for a way to let her know that she was everything he had ever dreamed.

She rambled about plans and the past and fear. She said she still wanted to be Oliver’s friend. She didn’t see why he was acting so distant. Weren’t they friends? Hadn’t they built something bigger than this?

He couldn’t take it anymore. Oliver took a deep breath, grabbed her hand and placed it firmly on his chest.

Layla wept.