I had a crush on him for three years, and he never noticed.
After the college entrance exams, I messaged him: “I used to like you.”
He didn’t reply.
I thought that was the end of it.
Not long after starting college, I found him in the hospital.
He was lying in bed, his face paler than the pillow.
I asked, “Why didn’t you reply to my message?”
He said, “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. I was afraid to. I didn’t want to hold you back.”
It turned out he liked me too.
It turned out he had waited three years, too.
Later, we got together.
We went to the movies, waited for the first snow, tried a long-distance relationship, and argued.
Then we broke up.
Then we met again.
When I was twenty-six, I wrote down the story of all these years.
From being too afraid to speak, to finally saying, “I love you.”
From walking alone, to having someone by my side.
The title is what I want to say to you:
I don’t want to have a crush on you. I want to date you.
