Love had once felt like the only truth I needed. The way he looked at me, the way he made my world feel small yet safe, as if nothing outside of our love could ever matter. I believed in the fairy tale, in the kind of love that made poets weep and the stars shine a little brighter.
But now, I know better.
Love and Its Awakening
He was the one who taught me love, who made me believe in something eternal. But now, he loves someone else. I watch from afar, my heart still holding onto him, but my soul knowing he no longer belongs to me. He moves through life untouched by the pain he left behind, while I have learned to wear my scars as armor.
I have spent nights drenched in silent tears, sobbing into my pillow so that no one could hear my pain. The world never saw the way my heart shattered when I realized I was not enough for him. The world never heard the prayers I whispered, where his name was always woven into every plea. I begged the universe to bring him back to me, to make him see the love that still lived in my soul. But some prayers go unanswered, and some love stories are meant to remain unfinished
The Wounds of the World
Once, I thought love could be an escape. That his presence could be enough to drown out the ache of longing. But love, no matter how deep, cannot bring back what is lost. It cannot undo the knowledge that he has chosen another while I still carry the echoes of his name in my heart.
He still smiles at me, but not the way he used to. His words are softer, careful, like someone trying not to break a fragile thing. But I am not fragile. I have simply learned to love differently—to love from a distance, to hold onto my feelings without asking for them to be returned.
I could have done so much for him. I could have moved mountains, given him my entire world, sacrificed every dream to make him happy. But none of it would have mattered—because love cannot be forced. And he, in all his kindness and warmth, never had love for me the way I had for him. He only had love for one, and it was never me.
A Love Beyond Love
I do not love him any less. If anything, I love him more—because love, when stripped of expectations, becomes something raw, something real. But I can no longer pretend that he alone is enough to fill the hollow spaces inside me.
Perhaps this is what Faiz meant when he said, Mujh Se Pehli Si Mohabbat, Mere Mehboob Na Maang (Do not ask me for the love I once gave you, my beloved.) He did not deny love; he simply understood that love must exist alongside loss, alongside the pain of letting go. And maybe that is the hardest truth of all—to love and expect nothing in return, to cherish someone even when they have moved beyond you.
He does not understand. Maybe he never will. But as I look into his eyes, I only ask for one thing:
Don’t ask me for the love I once had. Because I am not the girl I once was.
Yet, I will always love him. Not in a way that seeks him, not in a way that begs for his return. But in a way that lets me love him quietly, endlessly, from afar.
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