They called me the “rice guy.” I was one of the few rice-eaters at the school. I was also a pretty nice guy. Everyone knew how the saying went: rice guys finish last.

“Hey, I’m sorry for bothering you again, but can I ask you for just one more favor? Pretty please?” she would tell me.

My heart would go all aflutter. Butterflies would dance around in my stomach. I’d vow to say no this time, to tell her what was up, to make it known I could be more than just an errand boy.

“Of course I’ll do it. Just let me know whenever you need anything else,” I’d say to her with a thumbs up and another one of my stupid asian grins.

I was safe with the travesty of friendship. I was comfortable in my interactions. But I wasn’t content. The problem was clear. I was deceiving myself with every message, every phone call, and every glance. The solution was clear too.

“Just let the feelings out,” my buddies said.

I couldn’t though. I couldn’t take that risk. And despite everything clearly laid before me, I was lost in a sea of confusion.

I had never been with a girl. I didn’t know what they liked. I just knew I could always be counted on to be there for them. But never more than that.