He never talked about her.

Not once.

Not in passing, not in stories, not even accidentally. And that’s how she knew. When someone is truly nothing, you mention them freely. But when someone lives inside your heart—quietly, stubbornly, secretly—you protect that name like a wound that never healed.

And he protected her.

So she never asked.

She never pressed. Never brought her up. Because she knew that if she heard it from his mouth, it would break something she wouldn’t know how to put back together. It was easier to pretend not to notice the way his body stiffened when he saw her name on his screen. Easier to ignore the flicker in his eyes whenever she passed by.

But she knew. Of course she did.

Because the man she loved—he changed when that girl was around.

His voice softened, his smile widened. He stood straighter. Listened more. His hands, usually tucked away or lifeless at his sides, became expressive. Alive. Like even he forgot that he was tired of feeling. He came back to life in small ways around her—and she, the woman who loved him with everything she had, saw it all from a distance so close it hurt.

He never did it in front of her. That was the part that hurt the most. He’d check in on the girl quietly—social media, a second screen, a message he’d delete. He never said her name, but his eyes always found a way to follow her.

And the woman beside him? The one who stayed?

She got what was left.

Not nothing—but the bare minimum. Messages that felt like afterthoughts. Dates that felt like obligations. Conversations that wandered, eyes that never truly stayed on hers. She didn’t want extravagance—just attention, presence, effort. But he gave only enough to keep her there, never enough to make her feel truly loved.

He didn’t know she liked flowers, because he never asked.

She would’ve told him. She would’ve told him she liked white tulips because they reminded her of peace. That she always paused a little longer at the flower stalls on the street. That growing up, no one gave her flowers—and she always wanted to know what it felt like to receive something beautiful for no reason at all.

But he never asked.

He never wondered what her favorite song was. Never remembered how she took her coffee. Never stayed long enough in a moment to memorize her.

She wanted to believe he cared. She held onto the good days—the rare ones when he laughed with her, when he reached for her hand like he meant it. But even those moments felt borrowed. Like she was borrowing someone else’s version of him. A version she couldn’t keep.

She began to feel invisible in her own love story.

She showed up fully—heart wide open, always choosing him, always hoping he’d notice. But the more she gave, the less he saw. And maybe it wasn’t intentional. Maybe he didn’t realize how much she was hurting. Maybe he thought she was fine, that she understood.

But she wasn’t fine.

She was breaking.

And still—she said nothing. She held it in. Because she knew: he wasn’t hers in the way that mattered. His body was there. But his mind? His heart? His gaze? They drifted elsewhere.

So she loved him quietly. And then, she unloved him the same way.

No dramatic ending. No loud goodbyes. Just a soft pulling away. A quiet surrender. A slow unlearning of everything she used to beg him to see.

And one day, she stopped waiting for flowers.
Stopped looking for his eyes.
Stopped trying to be enough for someone who never really saw her in the first place.

Maybe he’ll look back, someday, and wonder when she changed.

He’ll say she grew distant.
He’ll say she stopped trying.
He’ll say he didn’t see it coming.

But she’ll remember every moment she begged for crumbs and called it love.
She’ll remember watching him smile at someone else while she waited for him to turn around.
She’ll remember everything he never said—and everything she did just to feel chosen.

And maybe, in the quiet, she’ll grieve.
But she won’t go back.

Because even the most patient hearts will stop knocking on a door that never opens.

And even the most loving woman will one day realize—
she deserves more than the bare minimum.