Raj...

I remember when I first began to write " the boy who loved…"

Back then, I was just a second— too early in the story to understand its ending, yet foolishly brave enough to write one. I thought the ending would hurt. I imagined it as something heavy, something final— a quiet kind of pain that lingers.

But now… standing just two weeks away from the end, that imagined pain feels like a beautiful lie— a soft utopia I had created to protect myself. Because the real ending? It’s quieter than I expected.

There will be no more classes, the corridors will forget our footsteps, and all these years— they’ll shrink into “remember that time?” Moments… just moments we once lived.

Yes, we got placed. We’re stepping into the lives we once dreamed of. But no one tells you— dreams sometimes come at the cost of distances you never wanted.

And She…

She had already left long before this ending arrived. Her goodbye that felt incomplete, some promises… still waiting somewhere between words. And memories—too alive to fade.

That 5’3” chaos… the arguments that made no sense, the late-night calls that meant everything, the silence that said more than words ever could…

I don’t think life will ever recreate something like that again...

Maybe it isn’t meant to.

So here I am…

closing this diary, not because the story ended, but because this chapter did.

I was born in Gen Z, but my heart learned time differently— an old soul, they say,

still believing silence should mean peace, not punishment. I never learned love the modern way. No mutual stories, no shared endings. Just a quiet, beautiful one-sided crush— the kind that teaches you how to feel. without ever asking to be felt back.

So I never knew what ghosting meant. Not really. I used to wonder why someone would vanish, when leaving only takes a sentence. “It’s not you.” “I don’t want to talk anymore.” Words are light. Silence is heavy. Instead, they say they’re busy. Busy with lives no busier than mine. Busy with excuses rehearsed. so they don’t have to face honesty.

And I think— maybe it’s not about hurting me. Maybe it’s about saving themselves, from feeling like the villain in their own story.

Because disappearing is easier, than admitting you chose not to stay. And I, still wired for sincerity, keep believing conversations deserve endings, —not echoes.

I believe by now you must have finished reading it—unraveling each thought, each doubt, and every feeling I’ve tried to put into words. That is why I wrote all of it, with nothing held back.

You know, not even for a single moment have I regretted loving you. Never once did I question why I did, or why you couldn’t feel the same. Yes, there were times when it made me sad—but more often, it made me happy. And so, I chose to hold on to those moments of joy rather than the ones that brought sorrow.

That’s why I wished to stay by your side until the very end. And I’m grateful that I was able to fulfill that wish. Yet now, I find myself lost, unsure of what comes next—because I never imagined a life beyond that moment.

Happyy diwali...🎊🎊

Today we argued about struggle — what it truly means, and who really lives it.

Some said that anyone chasing a dream, working day and night to reach it, is struggling.

They said that effort itself is a form of struggle, that desire and discipline are its proof. I listened, but a part of me disagreed.

For I have seen people who fight not for dreams, but for survival —who wake each day not to achieve, but simply to endure.

To me, that is struggle. That silent war against fate, where hope is the only luxury left, and the reward is not glory, but just another sunrise.Maybe my friends were right in their own way. Perhaps we all struggle — each within our own limits, our own world. But I feel there’s a difference between effort and survival.

When you have the tools, the education, the chance — your hard work is noble, yes, but it’s a privilege too.

I write here not because i want anyone to read me, but in the quiet hope that a certain someone might still hear me, even when I’m no longer around. Someone with whom I once shared promises I couldn’t keep… someone I was always afraid of losing — and yet, in the end, I lost.

So I come here to leave behind my wishes, my feelings, my fragments of emotion, hoping they might find their way to them. I know, deep down, that life will push them forward, away from all of this, away from me.

"Some chapters close, some journeys rise, but dreams take flight beneath new skies. Though paths diverge, I wish you well, May your story of success be one to tell. Congratulations, and keep shining bright."

I was watching a drama today… At first, I was lost in it— every scene a small universe, every episode a moment to breathe in.

I didn’t care about the ending, for I was alive in the now. But then I looked ahead… “How many episodes?” I asked. Fifty-two, And suddenly, joy turned heavy.

The ending was too far, and I—greedy for happiness— began to skip, to rush, to abandon the journey.

And life… isn’t it the same? When we think we know the ending, we lose patience. If it's sorrow, we stop walking. If it’s joy, we run too fast—missing the flowers on the roadside, missing the hands that reached for us along the way.

Maybe that’s why God hides the script. He does not show us the last page. He whispers instead: Do not worry about tomorrow. Because He knows— if we saw sorrow, we’d crumble trying to escape it. If we saw joy, we’d ruin it with our impatience.

He gave us choice. He gave us free will. The ending is ours to shape, not His to spoil.

Anyways...

It’s funny how a month can carry. echoes— like that tiny voice, half-grandma, half-child, dropping wisdom one moment, pulling a “Dumbooo” move the next 😋.

You were the sunbeam that broke through my grey, The gentle rustle in my silent day. Three years bloomed like spring beneath your gaze, A stranger once—then warm in your rays. You found me when I was just still air, An unnoticed leaf, lost somewhere. And somehow, you stayed. Even when the winds of my own heart betrayed.

If not for this foolish, trembling chest, I might’ve walked beside you—truly, at my best. But I faltered where I should have flown…And now, I walk this path alone.

Forgiveness, they say, begins within—But how do I forgive my greatest sin?

To love, and lose—not from fate, But from the silence I came to too late.

So here’s my final whisper in this quiet den, To the squirrel who made a boy feel again…

"Thank you—for the laughter, the light, the lore."

Goodbye, my Squirrel.

Once, I spoke with light.

I told her of human nature—how we don’t give up so easily. “I’m the same,” I said. “I keep trying, no matter what.” She smiled gently and asked, “But for how long can one keep trying?”

I answered with the fire I believed in: “Until we get what we’re reaching for.”

But time has a way of softening even the boldest voices. And now I see—perhaps that's not always true. Eventually, the heart grows weary, and even the strongest must pause, not in defeat, but in quiet acceptance.

Yet, I do not call it failure. For every step, every heartbeat in the chase —was a joy in itself. But I’ve also come to understand: No amount of trying can claim what was never meant to be yours.

Happiness is a myth... not a place, not a state, but a moment wrapped in someone’s laugh, a glance, a shared silence under moonlight.

It arrives not on its own feet, but in the shadow of a person— a friend, a lover, a memory made flesh. And just when we begin to believe it’s ours, it leaves with them. We chase it like children chasing fireflies, only to find our jar is empty when morning comes.

I loved you— Not for who you were to me, But for who I became when I thought of you. No promises, no conditions… Just like the morning loves the sun, Even knowing it will eventually set. It still rises, Every day, With the same hope, The same glow.

You were always in my prayers— Not the desperate kind whispered in broken nights, But the soft ones, That live in silence, And still find their way to the stars. The kind of prayers That never need words. To be heard.

I loved you. Like a child lets go of a balloon into the sky. —Not to lose it, But to watch it fly, Smiling at its freedom, Even if it never comes back.

My love was never loud. No grand gestures, No claims, No expectations. Just a quiet ache, A tender truth Woven into my breath. A song that never needed a melody, A poem that never needed paper. Just a light— Flickering in my eyes. Whenever your name passed through my heart.