She Was Here, But Not for Me

For days now, my mind’s been in overdrive. Spinning. Rewinding. Replaying. It all started on April 28th with a random snap from her. Nothing much—just her, maybe heading out somewhere. I didn’t think too hard. I told myself it was a regular outing. I trusted that I’d know if it was more than that. I was wrong.

April 29th. Another snap. This time from a hotel room—her hand visible, background blurred. Still no context. But it felt… off. Detached. Then later that night, she posted a story with a kid at some function. No caption, just joy. That’s when something clicked. This wasn’t casual. This was something bigger.

And then, on April 30th, it all made sense. Her story showed people dancing. Music. Lights. Smiles. A proper wedding. And still, I wasn’t thinking the worst. I just said, “She’s enjoying. That’s good.” But it didn’t stay there.

I opened Instagram and saw a story—not hers, but someone else’s. A group photo. And there she was, right in the middle. With tagged usernames: Jebenston Joseph. Yeswanth Duvvuru. Vishnu.

And the background? It hit me like a slap. That wasn’t just anywhere. That was Tirupati. My city. Not even far from my place. I stared at that photo for minutes, trying to believe it wasn’t real. But it was.

Vishnu studies in Tirupati. The rest connected quickly. I reached out to Mothi and HK—my default emotional support guys. Even they knew that place. And then came the confirmation. KSR Old VMC Kalyanamandapam on Renigunta Road.

She was here. She was actually here. In my city. In a function hall I pass by all the time. Celebrating a wedding. Meeting friends. Laughing. Posing for stories. And I? I was just… nowhere. Not a call. Not a text. Not even a “Hey.”

I didn’t expect much. I never do anymore. But deep down, somewhere in that still-healing part of me, I hoped that if she ever came here, I’d at least get a ping. A “how are you?” A second of acknowledgment.

But she came. Celebrated. Smiled. And left. As if I never existed. As if nothing we shared mattered.

And what kills me isn’t just that she didn’t tell me. It’s that it came so effortlessly. I wasn’t even a thought to consider. Not even an afterthought. Just… invisible.

I’m not angry. Anger would mean I had energy. I’m just tired. Empty. This ache isn’t loud. It’s quiet. Like a dull echo of someone I once knew, fading further every time she posts a smile I wasn’t part of.

And somehow, that silence—her silence—is louder than everything else.