Every day is the same—wake up, eat, run, do useless things, sleep. Everything seems perfect on the surface. But then, she sends snaps with her friends. And for a second, I feel happy. At least she is enjoying her life.
Maybe if I had gone to the same college, things would have been different. Maybe we would have still talked, laughed, existed in each other’s world. But I didn’t, and she doesn’t even remember that I exist. And that thought… that thought drives me insane.
Sometimes, I feel like a complete psycho. I imagine crazy things—what if I just went there, ripped them apart, took everything away from them? As if that would change anything. But then, reality kicks in. Why am I like this? Why am I so desperate for someone who isn’t even thinking about me? It’s her life, her choices. She knows how to live, how to take care of herself. She is not dumb. I am the dumb one. The one who still thinks about her, who still holds on to something that was never his.
I missed my chance. That’s the truth. She has moved on, and I am still stuck. Fucked up in my own head, watching her shine from a distance. She doesn’t even remember me, doesn’t know how I look at her photo at night, eyes filled with tears, fearing the thought of never seeing her again. She will never know.
Then I try to think practically. From her side, why should she even care? Her life is perfect. She is happy. She is beautiful. She deserves happiness. She deserves love. But me? What am I? Nothing. Weak. Skinny. A fool drowning in memories, wasting time playing games just to escape reality. Even if, by some miracle, she came back one day, looked me in the eyes, and said she wanted me, I would still step back. Because she deserves better. Because even if I love her, even if she was the only thing that ever made sense to me, I know I’m not the right one for her.
But at least, in my dreams, she is mine. And sometimes, I just want to stay there, in my dreams, with my 10-year-old Harshi. Not this version of her—the one who has forgotten me. No. The one I created in my mind, in my memories, in my dreams. The one that never left. The one that still looks at me like I matter.
Maybe that’s who I have been in love with all along—not her, but the version of her that only exists in my head. And maybe, that’s the saddest part of it all.