I kick my legs lightly across the sand, going back and forth on the playground swing. The swings are getting old and there is a loud creaking noise every time I move even a little.

“He confessed.” I finally break the long pregnant silence.

“And how did you reply him?” he asks, looking at me.

I hum to my favourite song and continue swinging. His eyes never leave me. That is one thing I like about him. How he is persistent but doesn’t press. I feel his soft gaze on me as if telling me that he will wait for as long as I want.

After some time, I give in. “He doesn’t like me that way.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“He is only momentarily confused. He will grow out of it.” I say.

“You shouldn’t say that. It’s not right of you to invalidate his feelings. You’re being selfish just because it is convenient for you. He must have worked up a lot of courage for the confession.”

“How do you know? Do you have someone you want to confess to?” I challenge.

He smiles gently at me. “I do.”

“Then confess.” My voice quivers and the tears threaten to roll out of my eyes.