Part Two. Rachel’s story

Introduction

This is the second of three short stories about friendship and unrequited love. If you have arrived at Rachel's story without having first read Part One, please can I recommend that you leave this page for a while and visit Matthew's Story before continuing. Thank you.

RACHEL'S STORY

Rachel was awake. Lying on her side facing the window, she watched as the orange glow of the streetlight danced on the half closed blind. She listened to the sound of Matthew's breathing, letting its steady rhythm comfort her. Moments like this felt perfect - moments when she could almost believe that he might feel the same way she did, but she knew now that he did not.

"I love you," she whispered, not meaning for him to hear.

But he did hear. She felt him tense beside her and braced herself for his response, knowing what he would say but still hoping for something different.

"I like you very much," he said softly, his tone steady and controlled.

Rachel swallowed hard as she turned, searching his face, still looking for an answer to the question she had asked in the pub earlier that evening. "What is 'this', What are we?" Silence. After a long moment, she turned away, pressing her face against his shoulder to hide the tears welling up in her eyes. She didn't know why she had asked, when he had always been so clear about his intentions.

They had been in each other's lives for a few years now. Meeting on a night out, there had been an instant spark between them. Matthew was easy to be around, funny and kind and, they had talked into the early hours of the morning, parting only after agreeing to meet up again the following weekend. 

When Friday finally arrived, Rachel was nervous and excited about meeting Matthew again. The evening was perfect, good wine, good music and good conversation, so later, when they ended up at his place it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. 

Soon, they slipped into a familiar pattern. She would wait for him to get in touch, and they'd meet at a pub or a restaurant midway through the evening. Later, they'd return to one of their homes, open a bottle of wine, listen to music, and simply be together. She told herself it was enough - that the intimacy and closeness they shared, even without a formal relationship, were better than nothing. Matthew enjoyed his bachelor lifestyle; he prized his freedom above all else, she had known that from the beginning. But, as the months passed, her feelings deepened, and being apart from him became increasingly difficult.

She found herself spurning social occasions in the hope that Matthew would contact her. Then felt rejected when he didn't. She rarely said no to his invitation to meet up, telling herself it was because she liked spending time with him. Deep down however she knew it was more than that. She was waiting for him to see her as more than just a friend, hoping he would eventually want to spend more time with her. Not marriage, not family, just time and an acknowledgement that "they were".

But every time she said those three words, his response was the same. He cared about her, but he didn’t love her. The thought cut through her like a knife, but she pushed it aside, telling herself she could wait a little longer, that maybe one day he would see her differently and that he would want to spend more time with her.

Tonight though, something felt different. His silence lingered longer than usual, the tension between them lay thick and heavy. Rachel turned her head slightly, watching him as he stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. She wanted to ask what he was thinking, but she was afraid of the answer.

Suddenly, Matthew slipped out of bed, his movements careful, as if trying not to disturb her. Rachel watched him walk to the door, her heart sinking as she sensed something was wrong. She had seen the conflict in his eyes. She saw the way his shoulders sagged with a weight he was carrying. She wanted to reach out to him, to pull him back into bed and pretend everything was okay, but she knew it wasn’t.

After a few minutes, he returned, sitting on the edge of the bed. She could feel the weight of his stare and she squeezed her eyes closed, hoping he would think she was asleep and the moment would pass. 

“Rachel,” he whispered, his voice low and strained.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice trembling despite her efforts to keep it steady.

“We need to talk,” he said, finally looking up at her.

The words hit her like a punch to the stomach. She had heard those four words before when a past relationship had failed. She had felt the world crumble around her then, and now, looking at Matthew's sombre expression, she felt it happening all over again.

“Okay,” she said softly, sitting up in bed and pulling the sheet around her to hide her nakedness. 

“I care about you, Rachel. I really do."

He didn’t look at her. His head was bowed and he fidgeted with his hands as he spoke. Rachel’s heart pounded in her chest, dread pooling in her stomach.

"But I can’t give you what you want. I can’t give you a relationship, or love, or a future together. I’ve been trying to ignore it, hoping it would somehow work itself out, but it won’t. And it’s not fair to you.”

His words were like a knife twisting in her heart. She tried to keep her composure, but she could feel the tears welling up. “Matt, I - ” she started, but he cut her off.

“No,” he said gently, shaking his head. “I need to be honest with you. You’ve been amazing, and I love having you in my life, but not in the way you want me to. I don’t want to keep hurting you by letting you think this is something more than it is. You deserve someone who can love you the way you want to be loved, and I can’t be that person.”

Rachel’s vision blurred with tears as she looked away, trying to process his words. She knew he was right; she had been holding onto a fantasy, hoping things would change, but it never did. She felt a painful mix of frustration, anger and sadness. She was frustrated at him for being so inflexible, after all she wasn't asking him to give up his life for her, just a recognition that they were ...."something". She was angry with herself for being so naïve, for thinking this arrangement could work, and she was sad because she was losing a friend. 

“I get it,” she said finally, her voice shaky. “I just... I hoped may'be you’d change your mind. That you’d see how much I care about you and...” She couldn’t finish the sentence, her throat closing up with unshed tears. “But I understand. I do.”

Matthew reached out to touch her hand, but she pulled away, shaking her head. She couldn’t bear the thought of his touch right now, knowing it wasn’t coming from the place she wanted it to.

“I think I should go,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She needed to get out of there, to get away from him and the crushing weight of his rejection.

“I’ll give you a lift home,” he offered, but she shook her head again.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll call a Uber,” she said, standing up and quickly getting dressed. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t let him see how broken she felt. She just needed to leave, to get away from the painful reality that he would never care for her the way she wanted him to.

She grabbed her things and headed for the door, pausing for a moment to glance back at him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, head bowed, picking at his finger nails, in the way he did when he was uncomfortable or didn't know what else to do. Rachel felt her heart ache at the familiar sight, but she forced herself to turn away, closing the door behind her.

As she stepped into the crisp night air, she drew a long breath, letting it settle in her chest. She felt a single tear on her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand. She knew that moving on from Matthew wouldn't be easy. She’d miss his quiet kindness, the natural ease of their companionship, the comfort of his presence. But more than anything, she’d simply miss him.

Somewhere nearby, the sonorous voice of Stevie Nicks floated into the air. She was singing "The Chain.” As Rachel climbed into the taxi, she couldn’t help but smile at life’s quiet ironies. A breakup anthem, words of heartbreak, still echoing decades later. Like memories of the past, some things never quite fade.  The car pulled away from the curb and, as she looked for the last time at the closed front door, she said a silent goodbye".