ProseinShadows!

And if you never truly let me go, don't let anyone else in either.

After all, a tango is for two, not three—whether it's dancing or love.

You are human when you're trying to build a good habit, live by wise words, or become a better version of yourself.

You are also human when you lose your temper with someone you love over something small or something you later regret.

You are human when you cry until your eyes ache, no matter your age or how much life you've experienced. They all belong to a human story, YOUR STORY! And there's nothing to be ashamed of !

"Can you reassemble it and return it to me the way it once was—unbothered, untroubled, and, more importantly, unhurt?"

People’s memories are short-lived; they flit from one headline to the next. But personal experiences—they refuse to fade.

Four Novembers ago, there was a train that left, a face that wept, and words that remained unsaid. All of it came rushing back in a single flashing moment, when their clothes brushed lightly against each other in passing.

“What were you searching for in her face?” his friend asked. “An answer, or an apology?”

A jolt crossed his features before melting into a wistful smile. The fading laugh lines still glorified his face, even under the pale moonlight, as he replied, “Apathy.”

His friend snorted. “Did you find any?

The smile curved into a smirk, mischief sparking at the rims of his deep, oak-brown eyes.

“All I can say,” he said, “is that I made the mistake of looking into her eyes.”

P.S. Fellow writers, what do you think he saw in her eyes? Was it enough to change what happened next, four Novembers after goodbye? Does thier love still linger?

As my first post here, I pose a question to each one of you. A question of severe importance, for I have finally found myself among a community that seems to understand my obsession with romantic clichés instead of dismissing me with, "Come on! That's never going to happen in real life. And that's exactly why you're so desperately, yet undesperately, single."

Now, tell me this.

What do airport confessions, kisses in the rain, tying a blouse string in an arranged-marriage setup, standing beside each other in a crowded room while pretending not to be in love, best friends who can't quite hold hands, enemies who spend more time consuming each other's brains than actual food, and ridiculously grand gestures across busy streets all have in common?

They're clichés.

They're predictable. Recycled. Repeated over and over again.

And yet, we keep coming back.

Why?

Why do we return to stories whose endings we can often predict from chapter one? Why do we willingly consume plots that are impractical, unrealistic, and sweet enough to cause diabetes?

Why do our hearts still skip a beat when the hero runs through an airport?

Why do we still giggle when two idiots finally realize they're in love after 300 pages of mutual suffering?

What is it about these clichés that keeps us hooked?

And perhaps I ask this because consuming romance to the point of overdose—and yet somehow being left yearning for more every single time—has made me write a story of my own.

A story about the comfort of knowing exactly where the road leads and still wanting to walk it anyway.

It's a story that doesn't try to outrun clichés. Instead, it asks why we love them in the first place.

Why does an airport confession still make our hearts race?

Why do we continue to root for best friends who are obviously in love, enemies who spend more time thinking about each other than hating each other, and grand gestures that would probably make us hide under a table in real life?

So, fellow lovers of romance, let me ask one final question:

Would you read a story that knows it's a cliché and embraces it anyway?

*Caught in a Cliché.*

And more importantly...

What's your favourite cliché?

P.S. Is it just me, or do you also have a soundtrack playing in your head for every scene in a cliché romance?