He decided that silence had gone on long enough.
Not hers—his.
He had mistaken restraint for invisibility, patience for virtue. Somewhere along the way, he realized he had made himself too small in her world, too easy to overlook. Attention, he now understood, was only valuable if it registered.
And he wanted to register.
The thought didn't arrive aggressively. It settled in gently, like a correction rather than a demand. People needed reminders, after all. Presence faded if it wasn't reinforced. This wasn't about forcing anything—it was about balance. About restoring what had slowly slipped out of alignment.
He began with subtle shifts.
A comment offered where he once stayed quiet. A moment of eye contact held just a second longer than necessary. Nothing inappropriate. Nothing that could be questioned. Each change felt deliberate, controlled, almost reasonable.
And yet, each one carried a quiet charge.
When she acknowledged him—really acknowledged him, even briefly—it sent a jolt through his chest that he hadn't anticipated. Not relief. Not satisfaction. Something sharper. Validation. Proof that he still existed in her awareness.
That mattered more than he wanted to admit.
He started to crave those moments, measuring his days by them. A nod. A shared glance. A brief exchange that meant nothing to her and everything to him. He told himself he wasn't asking for much. Just recognition. Just confirmation that he hadn't imagined their connection.
Because if she saw him—truly saw him—then all his patience would finally make sense.
When she didn't respond the way he hoped, disappointment followed, heavier now than before. He masked it well, but inside, his thoughts tightened, searching for meaning. Had he misjudged the moment? Said too much—or not enough?
The self-questioning grew relentless.
He began to believe that if she understood his consistency, his care, his quiet presence, things would shift naturally. That the fault lay not in his feelings, but in her lack of awareness. People overlooked what was steady. They took it for granted.
He wouldn't let that happen.
The idea didn't feel threatening to him. It felt fair.
He wasn't asking for affection. He wasn't demanding anything she couldn't give freely. He just wanted to step out of the background he had condemned himself to. To become impossible to ignore—not through force, but through persistence.
Through meaning.
As the thought settled, something in him hardened—not into anger, but into resolve. He no longer questioned whether he should be seen.
Only how long it would take before she finally understood that he already was.