Disclaimer: Don't own VD.

This is a bit AU, and just a product of 15 minutes of boredom. I thought I'd share.

Then Slowly Grows

She doesn't think she could love someone more than she loves him – almost more than he had ever expected her to.

Yet, she keeps quiet and doesn't say a word. She's content, quiet and resigned. There is no way that she'll allow herself to be torn between guilt and happiness. She loves him, she really does, but she doesn't do anything. She only watches him from afar, ever so quietly. She doesn't say a word; she just loves him from afar.

Her boyfriend has done immeasurable things to keep her happy – at least to the extent that he thought she could be. Never did he actually realise that she has long moved on from their sweet past, that she loves him no more. It took her long to realise that the momentous event had actually happened, but one day she just woke up and knew. She knew that she loved the other brother. The better man of the two.

The man in question knows he doesn't deserve her. He has done unforgivable things in his life and understands that maybe this is his punishment for all the things that he has done. Maybe. He thinks she's the most wonderful person he's ever met in his life. He admires her, and he envies his brother for having the one thing he can't have. He loves her; he really does. But he can only watch her from afar. He always comes home to see her with his younger brother, and he never sees her unhappy. She always looked so light and carefree – not a trace of discontentment in her whole being. She's good pretending. He believes. He loves her, so he is satisfied to see her happy, even in the arms of someone else – his brother's no less. He smiles at her courteously, sometimes gives her a slight nod and could only hope that she understands what he wills his eyes to mean, "I love you. I hope you're happy."

She doesn't know. She has always watched him, and sometimes with faceless women in his arms. They all come and go. She's the only constant in their world. Sometimes she wishes she was someone else, even be one of those women whose names would never be remembered. For one night, she hopes to be his, her heart, body and soul be his.

It doesn't happen. Months pass by and she doesn't say a word. He leaves.

Her relationship falls apart. He had been the only link to him. So, there was nothing to hold on to. She realises this a tad too late. She tries to find a way to contact him – find his number, address, anything… She fails.

She spends nights alone, writes in her diary – that leather bound notebook he had given her last year for her birthday. She pours out her feelings with unrestrained honesty. She had never been so honest in her entire life. She addresses every entry to him and knows that one day, she will see him again and tell him she loves him.

She waits.

It doesn't matter. The man in question died just a month ago, and he never knew.

He was the best she never had.