He asked me if I love him.

"It's been a while," he said to me. 

His image kept changing every time I see him. I almost always can't recognize him. 

"Clean cut suits you better. It brings out your facial features. I didn't notice your intricate jawline until today."

"I didn't have it before I guess," he replied, his tone of voice never changing. Always so calm, like the sound of waves on a mid summer's day. 

"What did he ask you?"

His presence radiates a certain familiarity to me that I feel so at ease. Every little thing I buried deep in my heart, he knew quite well, in some artistic way words cannot express.

"He asked me if I love him."

"What did you say?"

"I said I could."

Momentarily silence.

"You are afraid you said the wrong thing," he said. "Is that it?"

"You know my thoughts so well I don't need to confirm that," I said.

"Perhaps you should have said you love him too," he replied.

An exchange of looks between my friend and I, and at that very moment, I knew...

I should have told him the truth.