Do You? Maybe.

She slipped into the parlor. Tears glistened in her eyes and her breath continuously caught in her throat, but she didn't make a sound. Years of playing hide and seek with her childhood friends were paying off. He couldn't find her if she didn't cry out loud.

Why did she have to tell him how much she loved him? Didn't she know it would never work? That best friends can't fall in love with each other?

Or was it the opposite? Was everyone right: that a boy and a girl couldn't be best friends without falling in love eventually?

That's what the movies made it up to be: boy and girl become best friends at a young age. Boy and girl begin to have crushes on each other. Boy and girl eventually admit their crushes and become lovers.

But the movies never showed the heartache of when the girl admitted her crush and the boy admitted he didn't feel the same way.

She had been friends with him since preschool, when he sat down next to her on the swings and challenged her to a swinging contest. Everyone else called her carrot top and made fun of her for her bright orange hair. She was also smaller than everyone else, the price of being born a preemie baby. Everyone called her a runt. He called her by her name. He made her laugh. He dried her tears without question. And since that first day on the swings, they were inseparable.

Everyone was so used to seeing them together, laughing and making their friends laugh as well.

So could she be blamed for falling for him? When his dark brown eyes met her piercing blue ones, butterflies tore through her stomach. When he laughed, she smiled uncontrollably. When their skin touched, she blushed.

So it only seemed right for her to tell him everything she felt. They were best friends. What could go wrong? They told each other everything.

"I guess some secrets should never be told." she whispered, her voice cracking even then.

He looked at her like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. He didn't speak for almost five minutes. She knew because her eyes kept flitting over to the clock on the mantle. The only sound was the hissing sleet falling against the window pane.

"I...I'm sorry..." he had finally spoke. And as soon as the words left his mouth, she was gone, running through the massive house as fast as her feet would carry her. And they carried her to the parlor that her family only used for holidays and memorial services. In the front of the room sat a black baby grand piano that her mother had taught her to play when she was seven.

She played for her mother's funeral.

She played for her father's, too.

He was the only thing she had left in this world, aside from their friends and her sisters, who really never cared much about her anyway.

Now she had lost him.

This piano was now the only thing left. Her delicate fingers fluttered over the keys. As her hand swept down the row, they seemed to make a melody all on their own. After a few seconds of just staring, she leaned forward on the bench, playing a song that let her escape everything, and closed her eyes.

The first song she played was one that reminded her of happier times. Her father had referred to it as her lullaby. It was the first song her mother taught her to play. It was the song she performed at her first piano recital. It sometimes had a slow, bittersweet undertone to it, but the overall tune was peaceful and calm and strong.

The next song, and the notes that went along with it, were burned into her mind, also from years of playing. But this song was burned into her mind because of another reason: this very song was the one she had played during her parents' funerals. She played it whenever she was depressed and sad and lost. Her heart ached as she played, but she had a small, wistful smile on her face.

She never noticed him creeping into the room. He was enchanted, in disbelief that this otherwise headstrong and stubborn girl was so elegant sitting at the huge piano. He honestly didn’t know how she could’ve been playing when it looked like she barely touched the keys. They seemed to be making music all on their own.

Suddenly, he watched the tears slowly glide down her face, but she continued to play. It was like he could now see how each note was cracking her heart more and more, like an almost-broken window: spidery cracks creating an intricate pattern on the smooth, clear surface, waiting for the final blow to smash it into thousands of pieces.

Little did he know, her heart had been cracked for so long, and she was just waiting for it to shatter.

Little did she know, it never would.