I feared I would get a question like this.

Yes— I like him. And I know he'll never like me. I won't pretend otherwise. It isn't some passing infatuation or attempt to rewrite what happened between us; it's simply how things settled in my chest. He makes the world feel quieter, less jagged at the edges. I don't expect him to return the feeling, and I'm not foolish enough to chase what won't be given.

But I won't deny it either. I care for him— deeply, stupidly, and probably against my better judgment. And that's mine to live with, not something I need permission to feel.