Pages from my Closed Door

before I knew what the world was,

before I understood what was right or wrong.

Life touched me early,

and I carried those touches like shadows

that followed me through the years.

I grew up thin, soft, gentle,

walking in my own way,

and people noticed —

not to understand,

but to comment,

to laugh,

to shake my identity

when I didn’t even know what identity meant.

⸻

Then came friendships

that felt like thunderstorms —

loud, sudden, confusing,

but strangely comforting.

The first attachment,

the first bond,

the first person who felt like “mine” —

Gokul.

He was the warmth

I kept running back to,

even when the warmth

sometimes burned me.

I cried for him,

I hugged him,

I wanted him to stay.

He held me back sometimes —

but never with the same heart.

And that imbalance

tore me slowly

from the inside.

When he walked away,

I felt my chest becoming heavy,

like someone stitched sadness

inside my ribs.

⸻

So I moved out.

Triplicane became my hiding place,

my silent temple of pain,

where nobody knew

how heavy my heart was.

My office believed one story,

but my soul lived another.

⸻

Then came Muthu —

not a lover,

not a fantasy,

but a person I wanted

to simply stay.

We wore the same colors,

laughed at the same jokes,

felt like two threads

woven into the same cloth.

But I was fragile.

I wanted someone

who wouldn’t leave,

who wouldn’t choose others over me,

who wouldn’t vanish

when my heart needed them the most.

When he drifted,

even slightly,

my heart panicked.

It remembered Gokul,

it remembered loss,

it remembered loneliness.

And I cried

not because of Muthu,

but because I was tired

of being left alone

by the people I cared for.

⸻

I kept asking myself:

“Why am I like this?”

“Why do I hurt so deeply?”

“Why do I attach so fast?”

“Why does everyone leave?”

But the truth is softer:

I am unstable

because no one ever offered me stability.

I search for love

because no one stayed long enough

to teach me what love feels like.

I cling

because I am scared

of disappearing in someone’s silence.

⸻

✨ THE HEALED VERSION OF THIS STORY

A softer ending, filled with strength you didn’t know you already have.

⸻

One day, you stop crying.

Not because the memories fade,

but because you understand them.

One day, you look at your younger self

and whisper:

“You deserved gentleness.”

And you begin giving that gentleness

to yourself.

You learn that Gokul was a chapter,

not the whole book.

You learn that Muthu was a mirror,

not a destiny.

You learn that your heart

is not weak —

it is wide,

deep,

capable of oceans

most people never feel.

You learn that your attachments

were simply love

trying to find a safe place.

And finally…

You learn that the safest place

was always supposed to be

you.

⸻

🌿 THE FINAL POEM — FOR YOUR HEART

You loved loudly

because silence scared you.

You held tightly

because losing hurt you.

You cried deeply

because you felt deeply.

And that is not weakness —

that is courage.

Your story is not broken.

Your story is human.

Your story is healing.

And one day,

without trying,

you will find someone

who stays.

Because now

you stay for yourself.

• Changing room → If the tension is affecting your daily peace, yes, moving out of that space might help. But don’t rush — first ask yourself if it’s about him personally or the hurt from this one situation. If it’s just this conflict, a direct talk might solve more than running away.

• Not wanting him at your marriage → That tells me this hurt is deep, because marriage is a big life moment. If you’re already thinking of cutting him out, it means you feel betrayed, ignored, or not valued.

Here’s what I suggest before you take those big decisions:

1. Clarity talk (small step first) – Instead of silence, ask him casually but firmly, “Why do you keep avoiding me? You talk to others but not me. Did I do something?”

• If he values the friendship, he’ll explain.

• If he avoids again, you’ll have your answer.

2. Protect your peace – If he shows no effort, then distance is okay. Sometimes friendships drift, and it’s not your fault.

3. Marriage decision later – Don’t decide now in anger. If months pass and he’s still avoiding you, then you’ll know he doesn’t deserve a place in your big day.

“We sat in the same room today and yet felt miles apart…”

It’s strange how we’ve started talking again, after everything, but the words feel fewer… and colder. We go to the gym together, yet I feel alone — no guidance, no shared laughs, not even a bite of food passed my way anymore.

When it’s just the two of us in a room, there’s only silence. We quietly walk away into separate corners and scroll through our phones like strangers killing time. He crosses my door often on the way to the washroom, but never stops to ask what I’m doing. He walks into others’ rooms in the same house, laughing loudly, checking on them, talking about food, touching shoulders, being his old warm self with everyone else but me.

I know I’m already drowning with personal storms — family, money, responsibilities pulling at me from every side. Maybe I don’t show it enough. But a part of me still wishes for that one friend who loudly claims me as theirs, who stands with me in my worse and smiles with me in my good — someone who says, even without words: “I am here, for you.”

Today, I realised… maybe I miss not the memories… but the feeling of being someone’s person.

Today, I started something new — a fresh step forward.

I’ve been thinking… why should I keep focusing on someone, or beg for attention, especially from someone who never really made the effort before? That’s not who I am, and I’m not meant to lower myself for anyone.

I’ve got my own battles to fight, and they’re not small. I did something today that I didn’t really want to, but maybe it was needed. A reset. A wake-up.

I’ve started refreshed — not fully okay yet, but I will be. Recovery isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it begins in silence. And that’s where I am now. Healing in quiet, but healing for sure.

— One day stronger 💭

2‑Minute Speech – Two Best Friends and Silence

Good afternoon everyone, Today I want to share something simple, yet heavy on my heart. This morning, I didn’t step out of my room until after nine. When I finally opened the door, I didn’t speak a word. I just walked straight to the bathroom, hoping the water would take away the heaviness I was feeling inside. Everyone else in my room had already left early for work. Only we were left—two best friends who usually share jokes and plans, and ride together to the office. But today, even at breakfast, we sat facing each other with our heads down. Not a single word. We got on the bike, like we always do. Just fifteen minutes to the office, but those minutes felt like hours. Two people so close, yet no words, only silence between us. At work, I focused on my project. He needed some details about the same project, but instead of asking me, he asked a junior. I was right there… but it felt like I didn’t exist. We’re not fighting. We’re not strangers. We are best friends. But today, the silence between us was louder than anything else. It made me realize that sometimes it’s not anger or distance that hurts—it’s the lack of words, the quiet that grows where friendship used to be.

📖 July 14, 2025 Somewhere between feeling too much and not enough. Today hurt in quiet ways. I thought someone was my close friend. I trusted them, shared space, shared time. But again, they made me feel like I didn’t exist. This weekend, when it was just the two of us at home, he didn’t even sit with me. He didn’t ask what I was doing, didn’t try to connect. But today, when the other two friends came back, he immediately sat with them, laughed with them, even cooked for them. I watched him give them the care he never gave me. It felt like a knife I wasn’t expecting, even though I should have. It’s not the first time. He’s always been like this — distant with me, warm with them. Even during meals, he doesn’t wait for me. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. I’m always the afterthought. And every time it happens, my heart hurts a little more. I tried to speak up once. He said, “We are children to think of it.” Like caring, or being hurt by being ignored, is something silly. Small. Immature. That made it worse. Tonight, I closed my door. Not to shut the world out — just to protect the small, tender part of me that still feels things too deeply. I turned on the warm light. I played “Young and Beautiful.” And I sat in the quiet ache of being unseen. That song says everything I couldn’t. “Will you still love me when I’m no longer young and beautiful?” It’s not just about beauty — it’s about wondering if anyone will stay when I’m not shining, not useful, not okay. The answer still feels far away. But tonight, at least… I’m still here. Still breathing. Still holding on to the hope that maybe, someday, someone will stay. And maybe that’s enough. For tonight.