Two Years of Crushing on Someone, and Khánh Still Can't Send the First Message

Khánh types that name into the Zalo search bar for what feels like the tenth time this week. Thumb hovering right over the send button. Same as every other time these past two years.

Two years — since the first semester of freshman year, now well into junior year. Sitting near each other in almost every class. Casual conversation about homework. The occasional group lunch. Nothing unusual, nothing to raise an eyebrow. But Khánh has known for a long time exactly how they feel.

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Today after class, that person grabbed their backpack and left first, without looking back. Khánh stood in the hallway watching, silently scolding: "Just say it already. What's so hard?"

But it is hard. Not fear of rejection, the way people usually assume. What Khánh is actually afraid of losing is the word "maybe." Right now, that person is single, and Khánh hasn't said anything — which means the door is still open, just a crack. The moment Khánh speaks up, if the answer is a shake of the head, the "maybe" kept alive for two years disappears instantly. No way back.

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That night, back in the rented room, Khánh scrolls up through the old chat thread — nothing but messages about deadlines and group assignments. Types a few words. Deletes them. Types again. Deletes again.

Finally locks the phone screen and sets it face-down on the desk. Tomorrow is just another class, sitting close again, talking like nothing ever happened. Khánh chooses to stay quiet for one more day — not for lack of courage, but because trading "maybe" for a definite answer still doesn't feel worth it. Not yet.

"It's not cowardice. It's just fear of losing the 'maybe' still in your hand."

What are you staying silent about, afraid of what you might lose?