They say when you truly love someone, the last bite your food becomes a silent confusion, a language spoken by the heart when words would only ruin it. Not out of habit not out of politeness, but because love always leaves a little for its other half.

I didn't believe it until that afternoon. That day we sat together sharing lunch, I had brought for him not because I had to but because he had smiled once and said he liked maggie and somehow that was the reason enough.

The lunchbox rested between us...warning, faintly steaming carrying more than just noodles...Maggie, simple, ordinary maggie- but in his hands even simplicity felt sacred. I watched him eat, He ate quietly, slowly as if he wasn't in a rush to finish. I watched him without meaning to. The way he took each bite, the calm on his face the comfort in his presence it all made the world feel softer, the warmth that followed him like sunlight. Somewhere between the silent sound of his chewing and the rhythm of my heartbeat. I forget to breathe properly. Bit by bit noodles disappeared, the lunchbox grew lighter. Only two or three bites remain. I was sure he'd finish them too. But then, the lunchbox slid towards me gently.

‎It wasn't dramatic. No smile lingered. No pause meant to be noticed. His hand left the box gently in front of mine.

‎For a second everything inside me froze....

‎My breath forgot its way back. I looked at him.. confused, trembling and little to hopeful.

‎Was this a sign.. ?

‎Was the last bite theory choosing me?

‎My heart whispered questions my mind was afraid to ask: Is this it ?

‎I picked up the fork slowly something stirred inside me - soft, reckless, unnamed something that felt dangerously close to love.. My fingers felt lighter as if they were holding something fragile. Something that's felt like love pretending to be quiet. But deep down, I knew the truth , he didn't mean it..

‎It wasn't a confession, it wasn't love. Just him offering my food back nothing more. He didn't know about the last bite theory. He didn't know that.. To me that final bite felt like poetry written without ink. He didn't know that his smallest gesture turned into poetry inside my heart.

‎He didn't know... How i turned crumbs into constellations , how i mistook kindness for confession.. How hope bloomed where it was never planted.

‎He didn't know

‎But I did,

‎I always did.

‎I knew how easily my heart attached meaning to moments. How I collected small things and called them love. How i believe in theories because I wanted to believe in us.

‎He walked away unaware carrying nothing but a full stomach and I..

‎I stayed behind..

‎holding the last bite and a feeling that would linger for longer than the taste of maggie.

‎To him, it was nothing

‎To me , it was everything

‎Later i understand:

‎Love is often born not from grand confession, but from misunderstanding we will be willing nurture. From moment we water with hope until they bloom into stories only one heart remembers.

‎He forgot that lunch by evening. .and I. .I carried it with me for years.

‎That last bite..

‎The almost love.

‎And a theory that never asked to be true.

‎