If youāre reading this, then it means I finally gathered enough courage to let you see the things I could never say out loud.
I donāt even know where to begin because this isnāt a story with a proper beginning, middle, and end. Itās just a collection of thoughts, emotions, fears, anger, love, confusion, and silence that Iāve been carrying around for a long time.
The day we stopped talking, something inside me broke.
I remember being at work and suddenly feeling everything hit me at once. My chest felt tight, my thoughts wouldnāt stop racing, and I couldnāt breathe properly. I had another a panic attack.
For a moment, I genuinely thought something was seriously wrong with me.
I was scared enough that I considered admitting myself to a hospital because I couldnāt understand what was happening. It wasnāt just sadness. It wasnāt just missing someone.
It felt like my mind and my body were both giving up at the same time.
And the strange thing is that life didnāt stop.
I still had work.
I still had responsibilities.
I still had family issues happening around me.
I still had people expecting me to be okay.
Meanwhile, inside my head, there was a war that nobody could see.
That same week, I kept getting calls from Chetan.
Again and again.
And I didnāt answer.
Not because I hated him.
Not because I wanted revenge.
Not because I didnāt care.
But because some connections donāt disappear overnight.
Even when you know theyāre over.
Even when youāre trying to move forward.
There are still invisible threads attached somewhere.
And every call felt like someone pulling on a wound that was trying to heal.
At the same time, I was being blamed for things I hadnāt done.
I think thatās one of the most painful feelings a person can experience.
When youāre already struggling and then someone starts questioning your intentions too.
You start defending yourself.
Then explaining yourself.
Then overexplaining yourself.
Then eventually you become tired.
Because how many times can you prove a truth you already know?
I wonāt lie.
There were moments when I was angry.
Not angry because I didnāt love you.
Angry because I loved you.
There is a difference.
A part of me kept wondering why nobody tried to stop me.
Why nobody looked at me and said, āStay.ā
Why it felt so easy for everyone to watch me walk away while I was struggling to take every step.
Maybe that wasnāt fair.
Maybe everyone was fighting their own battles too.
Maybe nobody knew what was happening inside me.
But that thought still existed.
And if this is supposed to be honest, then I have to admit it.
I was hurt.
I was confused.
I was angry.
And I loved you all at the same time.
Thatās what made everything so exhausting.
People think emotions arrive one at a time.
They donāt.
Sometimes they all arrive together.
And then youāre left carrying them.
I used to think I had bled myself dry for people.
Given everything.
My energy. My care. My patience. My loyalty. My time. My love
And then I would sit alone wondering why all I seemed to receive in return was pain.
A pain that didnāt make noise.
A pain that nobody could hear.
A pain that slowly followed me everywhere.
But as time passed, I realised something.
I was wrong too. Not about loving.
Never about loving But about expecting love to protect me from pain love was never a contract. It was never supposed to be, āI gave this much, so I should receive this much.ā
Real love doesnāt keep score. Real love gives because thatās what it chooses to do. And I think that lesson hurt me the most because I had to learn it while my heart was breaking.
How hurt I was How lost I was. How dramatic some thoughts became in my own head. But I donāt want you to read these pages and think theyāre a record of sadness.
They arenāt. Theyāre evidence that I survived it. Every page represents a version of me that was trying to understand what was happening.
Every paragraph is a conversation I couldnāt have. Every note is a moment I missed you. Because whenever I missed you, I wrote whenever i missed you Whenever I wanted to call you and didnāt, I wrote. Whenever I felt too much, I wrote.
Thatās why there are so many notes. Thatās why there are so many unfinished thoughts.
Because I never had enough courage to sit in front of you and say these things directly. And maybe I still donāt.
Thatās why youāre reading them. Not because I want sympathy. Not because I want you to feel guilty. Not because I want you to fix anything.
I just want you to understand.
I want you to understand that while you saw a quiet version of me, there was an entire storm happening underneath.
I want you to know that even when I was distant, I cared. Even when I was silent, I cared. Even when I walked away, I cared.
And despite all the confusion, despite all the hurt, despite all the things I still donāt understandā¦
I never stopped wishing good things for you. Maybe thatās what love became in the end.
Not possession. Not expectations. Not demands.
Just quietly wanting someone to be happy, even while youāre still learning how to heal yourself.
So if you ever read this and feel overwhelmed, donāt focus on the pain written here.
Focus on the fact that underneath every confused sentence, every angry paragraph, every tearful thought, there was still love.
A lot of it.
Probably more than I ever managed to show.
And before you finish reading this, there is one last thing I want you to know.
If this blog feels heavy, if some pages feel full of pain, confusion, anger, or unanswered questions, then please remember something important These pages were never written because I loved you less. They were written because I loved you so much that I didnāt know where to keep all those feelings. Every note exists because I missed you. Every paragraph exists because there was something I wanted to tell you. Every unfinished sentence exists because my heart felt more than my words could ever explain.
You know, I often say that I donāt have the right words. But maybe the truth is that no words would ever be enough.
How do I explain the comfort I found in your existence?
How do I explain the way my mind would reach for you in both my happiest and my hardest moments?
How do I explain that even during the days when I was trying to understand myself, a part of me was still carrying you with me everywhere?
I canāt.
And maybe I never will. All I know is that loving you became a part of me.
Not something I did.
Something I became.
I wasn't perfect at expressing it. I wasn't always calm. I wasn't always strong. Sometimes I was confused, emotional, distant, scared, or overwhelmed. But through all of that, one thing remained constant.
I loved you.
More than I showed. More than I said. More than you probably ever realised.
And if someday weāre sitting together while you read these words, I hope you donāt just see the pain I was carrying. I hope you see the love that survived despite it.
Because when I look back at everything, thatās what stands out the most.
Not the panic attacks. Not the misunderstandings.
Not the silence. Not the distance.
Just the fact that through every storm, every difficult day, every battle happening inside me, there was still a heart that never stopped choosing you.
And maybe thatās the simplest truth of all.
Out of everything I struggled to understand, loving you was never one of them.
