I might have been one of many women in your life, but in seven years, you were the only man I truly wanted.
You were the slow flame kind of love. There were no sparks in your presence, only the warmth and comfort like the gentle heat of a hearth on a cold night. And oh, the mouth full of kisses. For all these years, I didn’t realize that my version of normal was like holding my breath under icy, dark waters. Kissing you felt like finally surfacing, taking in a deep, real breath. I had forgotten what desire rushing through my body felt like. Maybe even the feeling of being wanted. But I don’t really know if I ever knew the latter.
I had hoped we could find a way forward, even if only as friends, because our connection felt genuine, and I wanted to keep you, the person you are, in my life. I really did adore you. I didn’t need to be in a romantic relationship to do that. But the minute you felt I was infringing on your freedom was the minute you threw me out. Every request I made was seen as an attempt to control you. I always had the sense you saw me as a competitor, someone to resist, rather than an ally.
I told you early on that if you ever wanted me to leave, all you had to do was say the word, and I would. Yet, you kept me around while you sorted through your own feelings, slowly ghosting me in the process. I just ripped the bandage off once you told me “don’t get attached”.
Honesty may sting briefly, but it’s the mixed signals that leave lasting wounds. The hurt was prolonged for both of us because you chose apathy, ambiguity, and distance to shield yourself from discomfort. If there was not a single thing about me that you felt you wanted in your life then we simply weren’t compatible. No judgment. I wouldn’t have tried selling myself to you so you’d keep me.
Love, at its core, embodies forgiveness. It takes a lot of willingness and grace to accept our own mistakes and those of others. It demands even more bravery and vulnerability to build meaningful relationships. I am not claiming my actions were perfect—I own my mistakes. But you never seemed capable of offering or accepting apologies. You chose to stonewall me.
The real tragedy for me is your denial of your feelings and avoidance of accountability, as if you couldn't bear the weight of your own truth. You didn’t need to tell me you had feelings for me, only to retract those words days later and express interest in other women. Then telling me you changed your mind. It felt cruel.
I saw your doppelganger one day. The man was playing with his little daughter, his wife by his side. I looked at them, and only a duaa came, that you have your own family - the love and security of belonging somewhere with someone you love and who makes you feel loved.
I also had a dream where you were laughing, a belly-full laugh, exquisitely happy.
I know that no words could convey more of what this was than the silence between us. The truth is you were barely ever curious about me or my world. We were momentary guests in each other’s lives. Jahan ho, jaisay ho, I wish you a beautiful life.
