His name was Aryan.
And maybe that's where my mistake began —
I remembered his name before I even realized he was becoming important.
I don't remember the first proper conversation.
But I remember the habit.
Somehow, my day started including him.
If he laughed, my mood felt lighter.
If he seemed upset, my whole day felt heavy.
And the scary part?
He never asked for this.
I gave him importance on my own.
---
I started noticing stupid things.
The way he fixed his hair when nervous.
The way his voice softened when he spoke seriously.
The way he smiled at everyone the same way he smiled at me.
That should have been my warning.
But love is blind in a very funny way.
It convinces you
that something ordinary is special…
just because you want it to be.
---
Sometimes I lied to myself just to see him.
I'd tell my friends,
"Oh, I'm going that side anyway."
Even when it wasn't true.
Sometimes I waited in the rain,
pretending I liked the weather.
But the truth?
I was just waiting for one glimpse of him.
Just one.
Because seeing him for even a second
felt enough to survive the whole day.
---
He never noticed.
Or maybe he did…
but never thought it meant anything.
After all,
why would someone think
they're being loved silently?
---
And then one day…
I saw him with her.
The way he smiled at her…
was different.
Real.
Effortless.
And in that moment,
I realized something painful.
I was running toward someone
who was walking toward someone else.
---
I smiled that day.
I joked.
I acted normal.
But later that night,
I cried in silence.
Because loving him
was never wrong.
But expecting him to love me back…
maybe that was.
---
And yet…
even after knowing the truth…
I still went to see him.
Still waited.
Still smiled.
Because my heart refused to learn
what my mind already knew.
---
And maybe that was love.
Not the kind you get.
But the kind you survive.