Some Stays, Some Goes – A Reflection on What Could Have Been

Celebration has always been your thing. You’ve always wanted to make every moment special, but I never understood it the way you did. As I grew older, I could comprehend your joy in celebrating, yet I still resisted it. I held you back from celebrating things I deemed unimportant, unable to see the meaning they held for you.

You loved birthdays, events, and New Year’s, simply because they gave you a chance to create memories. But I was different. I lived in the harsh reality of this life, a life that often felt too sad to celebrate. I knew what happened when you did something special for someone—it created expectations, attachments, and a longing that I didn’t want to feed. So, I stopped you. I kept telling you those celebrations weren’t necessary.

The irony? I had no problem doing things for others, making them feel special. But when it came to you—or even myself—I couldn’t. I never liked celebrating. I never gifted you the things you truly wanted. I controlled how much of me you could have, while I took control of everything in your life.

And now, I regret it.

What if we had celebrated? What if we had made those memories? Would it have made our separation even harder? Maybe then, we wouldn’t be here—me drowning in regret, and you, moving forward without looking back. No, not you. Me. I am the one who is struggling, the one who never made you feel special.

I was once the person you always wanted. Now, you are the one I can only look toward from a distance. I led you into habits, choices, and moments that suited me, and now, here I am, trying to undo my own mistakes—for the world, for myself.

You are happy now. I can feel it. And maybe that’s the hardest part. Because when someone is in pain over losing something, it simply means the other has found something better.

And that’s life. Some stay, some go.

Confession

A Love and Fate – My Story

Wine has a perfect color—if it spills on clothes, it never truly comes out. She was like that wine. Deep, intense, and unforgettable. She was going through a lot, unaware of the people around her. And yet, she gave me the chance to be her friend.

We kept our friendship a secret. I was afraid of what my friends would think if they knew how close we were. I didn’t want to be judged, and in doing so, I let her suffer. I said things I shouldn’t have, pretended to be someone I wasn’t, and made it seem like she didn’t deserve me. I knew it was wrong—I knew it could hurt her reputation—but I still did it. I wanted to be the smart one, and I made her feel dumb.

She never held back her feelings. Slowly, she realized what I was doing, and that’s when she started complaining. That’s when we started fighting. She knew I had a crush on another girl, and I didn’t hide it. Instead, I made it clear to everyone what we were—or rather, what we weren’t.

Time passed, and she continued to care for me. I kept hurting her, intentionally or unintentionally. She cried for me, and I let her. I was stupid—I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I did it anyway. For what? I still don’t know.

Every day, she brought lunch for me to the office. No one knew who my dabbewali was. I cared too much about my reputation, and in doing so, I kept breaking her. I always knew she loved me, and I knew I could never love her back. And yet, I let her suffer. I used her kindness, her patience, her love. I was cruel—cruel in a way that no one but she and I would ever understand.

She helped me through my breakup, helped me make sense of things when I was lost. I remember telling her, "I know you love me, but I just can't love you back. And that's the worst thing I'll ever do." She watched me cry over someone else. She watched me beg for someone who didn’t care about me. And yet, she stayed. She took care of me, held me together when I was falling apart.

She had an unbreakable spirit. She gave her all to make sure I survived. The way she loved—it wasn’t something just anyone could do.

And now, if she’s not with me, I know she must be happy. Because the truth is, I never made her feel special, appreciated, or beautiful. I treated her as I pleased, like a ruler controlling his kingdom. I forced her to do what I wanted. Only a cruel person could do that.

I wish I could apologize for every single moment she suffered because of me. And yet, the most heartbreaking part? She would still forgive me.

Confession

The Love I Took for Granted

There was a time when I would recite my poetry, and she would listen as if she wanted to become a part of it. Yet, she never truly understood that each verse was about her. I had written them with a quiet fear—that one day, she might leave me.

Most of my poetry is in Hindi and Urdu, languages she wasn’t entirely fluent in. Still, I would explain the meanings of those intricate words, watching her smile, sometimes amused, sometimes lost in thought. She often wondered why I wrote, wishing I would write something just for her, not realizing that every piece already belonged to her. She never understood what inspired my words, nor the depth of emotions behind them.

She made countless sacrifices for me, always making me feel special. And maybe, that’s why I took her for granted. She would work tirelessly until 2 or 3 in the morning, only to wake up at 5 or 6—just for me. Meanwhile, I despised waking up early even when she desperately needed rest. It affected her health, and I knew it, yet I did little to change things.

No matter how much I give, I can never repay what she has done for me. I ignored her feelings, her expectations, and her silent wishes, while she fulfilled every single one of mine.

This is who I am. This is my regret. This is my deepest sorrow. And if I had to, I would die and be reborn just to love her better—to be with her again, this time cherishing her the way she deserved.