The weight of his secret was becoming unbearable. Porchay found himself constantly on edge, his mind racing with thoughts of Kim and Pete,

the petals a constant reminder of his unrequited love. He couldn't escape the pain, couldn't silence the whispers of longing that echoed in his heart.

He had tried to ignore it, to bury it deep within himself, to convince himself that it was just a phase, a fleeting infatuation that would soon pass.

But the petals continued to appear, a persistent ache in his chest, a physical manifestation of the emotions he couldn't control.

The first petal had appeared after seeing Kim perform live, a delicate white petal tinged with a faint red at the edges.

He had dismissed it as a coincidence, a trick of the wind, a fleeting moment of beauty.

But it had happened again, and again, each time after seeing Kim, each time his heart ached with a longing he couldn't explain.

He had tried to rationalize it, to find a logical explanation for this strange phenomenon. Maybe it was a reaction to the stress of his work,

the pressure of trying to balance his passion for photography with the demands of his everyday life. Maybe it was a manifestation of his anxiety, his fear of failure, his inability to express his feelings.

But deep down, he knew the truth. The petals were a physical manifestation of his unrequited love for Kim, a silent testament to the emotions that consumed him.

He felt like he was living a double life, a secret world hidden behind a facade of normalcy. He would smile and laugh with his friends, pretend to be carefree and content, while inside, his heart was breaking.

He couldn't keep this burden to himself any longer. He needed to talk to someone, to share the weight of his secret, to find some semblance of peace. But who could he confide in?

Pete, his best friend, was now the object of his affections, a constant reminder of the impossible nature of his feelings.

He couldn't bear to burden him with the truth, couldn't risk jeopardizing their friendship.

He considered reaching out to his other friends, but they were all oblivious to the turmoil within him.

They knew of his admiration for Kim, his passion for photography, but they had no idea about the depth of his feelings, the pain that consumed him.

He had tried to confide in his older brother, but his brother, a pragmatic and practical man, had dismissed it as a silly crush, a temporary infatuation that would soon pass.

He was alone, trapped in a labyrinth of his own emotions, a prisoner of his own heart.

One evening, as he sat in his darkroom, the red light casting long shadows on the walls, he decided to take a leap of faith. He reached for his phone, his fingers trembling as he dialed Pete's number.

"Hey, Porchay," Pete's voice, cheerful and carefree, filled the room.

"Pete, I need to talk to you," Porchay said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Can you meet me at the cafe tomorrow?"

"Sure, what's up?" Pete asked, his tone laced with concern.

"Just... something important," Porchay replied, his voice cracking slightly.

He hung up the phone, his heart pounding in his chest. He had taken the first step, had reached out for help, had dared to hope for some semblance of understanding.

The next day, Porchay sat at their usual table in the cafe, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

He watched as Pete approached, his smile fading as he saw the look of distress on Porchay's face.

"What's wrong, Porchay?" Pete asked, his voice filled with concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Porchay took a deep breath, his throat constricted with unshed tears. He knew he had to tell him, had to share the burden that had been weighing him down for so long.

"Pete," he began, his voice trembling slightly. "I need to tell you something. Something that's been bothering me, something that I haven't been able to share with anyone."

Pete leaned forward, his eyes filled with concern. "What is it, Porchay? You can tell me anything."

Porchay hesitated, his mind racing, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he had to be honest, had to be brave, had to face the truth.

"Remember how I told you about my feelings for Kim?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

Pete nodded, his expression softening with understanding. "Yeah, I remember. You've always been a big fan."

"It's more than that," Porchay said, his voice cracking slightly. "It's... it's something else. Something I can't explain."

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of petals, their delicate beauty a stark contrast to the pain that was consuming him.

"What are those?" Pete asked, his eyes widening in confusion.

"These..." Porchay began, his voice trembling. "These are petals. They appear whenever I see Kim, whenever I think about him. It's like... like my body is reacting to my feelings."

Pete stared at the petals, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern. "Porchay, what are you talking about? This doesn't make any sense."

"I know it sounds crazy," Porchay said, his voice breaking. "But it's true. I can't control it. It's like... like my body is trying to tell me something."

He explained everything, the first petal, the growing frequency of their appearance,

the overwhelming sense of despair that accompanied them. He poured his heart out, sharing his secret, his pain, his unrequited love.

He told Pete about the dreams he had, the dreams where Kim confessed his love, the dreams that left him feeling both elated and devastated.

He told him about the way the petals felt, like a physical manifestation of his longing, like a constant reminder of the impossible nature of his feelings.

Pete listened patiently, his expression a mix of concern and disbelief.

He had never seen Porchay so vulnerable, so lost. He had always been the strong one, the one who offered support, the one who brought a smile to everyone's face.

"Porchay," Pete said, his voice soft and gentle. "I don't understand what's happening, but I believe you. I'm here for you. I'm your friend, and I'll always be there for you."

Porchay felt a wave of relief wash over him, a sense of gratitude for Pete's unwavering support. He had finally shared his burden, had finally found someone who believed him, who cared.

But the relief was short-lived. The petals continued to appear, a constant reminder of his unrequited love, a painful reminder of the impossibility of his dreams.

He knew he had to find a way to move on, to find a way to heal, to find a way to accept the truth.

But the path ahead seemed shrouded in darkness, the future uncertain.