The Enchanted Unrequited

People kept telling her that she would get over him. It was almost always said with good intentions, usually accompanied by the same familiar assurances: give it time, keep yourself busy, stop thinking about him, meet new people, focus on yourself. She knew they were trying to help, and perhaps there was nothing else anyone could say to a person whose heart had just been handed back to her after she had spent years placing it in someone else's hands. Still, every time somebody told her that she would eventually “get over him,” something about those words felt terribly inadequate. Getting over rejection was one thing. Rejection wounded the ego, embarrassed hope and forced a person to accept an answer they had desperately wanted to be different. Perhaps time could heal that. Perhaps one could eventually understand that another person's refusal was not a verdict on one's worth. But getting over someone who had become your world was something else entirely. How were you sup...

People often say, "Everyone has a past." And they're right. Every person carries memories, heartbreaks, mistakes, regrets, and versions of themselves that no longer exist. Having a past is not the problem. The question is: what place does that past occupy in your present? Because love doesn't ask for perfection. It doesn't ask you to have lived an untouched life. It simply asks for one thing—presence. When you choose someone, what matters the most? Is it your family's approval? Society's acceptance? The opinions of people who won't be living your marriage? Or is it the willingness of two people to wake up every day and choose each other, despite everything life has already thrown at them? A marriage cannot survive only because two families said yes. Neither can it survive only because two people fell in love. It survives because two individuals decide that whatever happened before this moment will not become a prison for what they are trying to b...

Some people are afraid of the dark. Some are afraid of heights. And then there are people who are afraid of being left behind—not because they are weak, but because life taught them, long before love ever did, that people don't always stay. She had carried that fear for as long as she could remember. Every goodbye felt permanent. Every delayed reply sounded like rejection. Every change in someone's tone made her wonder what she had done wrong. She never asked for much. She only wanted reassurance that the people she loved would still be there tomorrow. Then one day, someone walked into her life. For the first time, the noise inside her head became quiet. Around him, she stopped preparing herself for endings. She stopped expecting people to disappear. He felt safe—not because he promised forever, but because she believed him enough to finally let her guard down. And that was the bravest thing she ever did. People think love is giving someone your heart. It isn't. Love ...

He used to tell her, over and over again, "You've become distant. You've become rude. You've changed. It's because there's one thing you wanted and you didn't get." He didn't say it once. He said it many times, convinced that the emptiness inside her came from not getting what she wanted. But how could she explain something he had already reduced to "one thing"? Because the "thing" he kept referring to... was never a thing at all. It was him . He wasn't a possession she longed to own. He wasn't a prize she had failed to win. He wasn't a title, a relationship, or an achievement she could simply move on from. He had become her entire world long before she realized she was losing herself in him. How do you explain to someone that they aren't just a part of your life—they have quietly become the life you imagined for yourself? She thought she had more time. More hugs to give. More apologies to make. More ...

Please... just one chance. I promised myself that if I ever got it, I would spend every single day making sure it was never a mistake. I couldn't bear the thought of watching the love of my life walk away while I stood there helpless. I had tried everything I knew, but somehow it still wasn't enough. I didn't know where to go anymore or what to do with a heart that refused to let go. I knew that once my love made up their mind, there was very little anyone could do to change it. But I kept asking myself one question that never found an answer. What was my fault? I smiled when we met. I acted like I was fine. I pretended that losing them wasn't destroying me piece by piece. But behind every smile was a truth I could never speak out loud—I couldn't forget them. Not for a day. Not for a moment. All I wanted was for us to try together. I wasn't asking for promises of forever. I wasn't asking for guarantees. I was only asking for one honest chance to ...

There was a time when I believed love was just a feeling—something beautiful, something fleeting, something people eventually outgrew. I never imagined it could become a place someone lives inside. Then, you happened. Somewhere between ordinary conversations and quiet moments, love stopped feeling like an emotion and became a part of my existence. It found its way into my breathing, my prayers, my silence, and the spaces within me that even I had never explored. You didn't become someone I simply loved. You became the home my soul built without asking for permission, without making a sound, without either of us realizing how deeply the roots had grown. Maybe that's why, when someone once asked me, *"What's something you'll never do again?"* my mind searched for an answer, but my heart already knew. I don't think I can ever love this deeply again. Because this wasn't ordinary love. This was the kind of love that made every prayer unknowingly...

Some departures never involve walking away. They happen while we continue showing up, answering messages, remembering birthdays, laughing at familiar jokes, and carrying on as though nothing has changed. From the outside, everything appears untouched. But somewhere beneath all those ordinary moments, something quietly loosens its hold, and neither person can quite point to when it began. She couldn't remember the day she stopped expecting him to notice the little things. It wasn't because he had become unkind, nor because he had intentionally withdrawn. Life simply became fuller, busier, louder. Somewhere between responsibilities and routines, she realized she had started carrying entire conversations inside her head instead of sharing them with him. Whenever something beautiful happened—a sky painted in impossible shades after the rain, a song that reminded her of an old evening, a line from a book she knew he would have smiled at—her first instinct was still to tell him. ...

Some absences don’t begin with distance. They begin while everything is still there—while conversations still happen, while names are still saved the same way, while nothing has officially ended… because nothing officially started. And yet, something slowly starts to loosen its grip. She felt it before she understood it. Not in words, not in actions he could be blamed for, but in the spaces between things—the pauses that stretched just a little longer, the replies that arrived just a little emptier. Nothing was wrong. And maybe that was the problem. Because pain without a reason has nowhere to go. She never asked him, “Are you drifting away?” Not because she didn’t want to know, but because she already did. And knowing silently felt easier than hearing it out loud. There was a time when his presence filled everything—not loudly, not overwhelmingly, just enough to make the world feel… held together. Like background music you don’t notice until it stops. And when it did, nothi...

Some love doesn’t announce itself. It stays. It watches. It waits. Five years is a strange amount of time to carry something unnamed — too long to dismiss, too quiet to explain. Time moved forward. The world shifted, paused, rebuilt itself. Her heart didn’t. Love didn’t arrive with intention. It settled. Slowly. Silently. Like something that had always been meant to stay. She never blamed him. That was the hardest part. There was no promise. No label. No moment she could point to and say, “This is where it began.” It simply existed. The way breathing does. To him, she was a friend — and he was kind in that role. He never pretended to be more. He never made promises he couldn’t keep. If anything, his honesty was gentle, even when it hurt. And that is why she never made him the villain in her story. Because how do you accuse someone for not feeling the same depth you do? Her love was not born out of expectations. It was born out of presence. Out of listening. Out ...

Some loves don’t make noise. They don’t knock on your door with flowers or promises. They just… exist quietly—like the hum of the ceiling fan at night, or the steady beat of a heart you never really notice until it’s gone. I sometimes think… if I were a fish, things would be easier for you, maybe then you would have loved me too a bit. Not the kind that swims away into an endless ocean, but the kind that stays in one small glass bowl, in a corner of your room, living quietly in your space without asking for more than you can give. Maybe I’d be a brigh blue with a golden shimmer, the kind of color that feels like peace after a storm. Maybe you’d have even given me a name—something soft and meaningful with love, like June, a name you’d say quietly when you were near, as if it belonged to a secret only we shared. I wouldn’t talk. I wouldn’t argue. I wouldn’t take up too much room in your life— just enough to see you, enough to feel close. Maybe then you’d think I was...

It’s not the night that feels too long—it’s the silence that feels too loud. They don’t tell you this when you’re young— that there comes a time in life when sleeping alone no longer feels like freedom, but like an unfinished sentence. This solitude is intoxicating. You sprawl across the bed, claim every inch of the blanket, and feel proud of not needing anyone. The silence feels peaceful, the dark feels calm, and you convince yourself you are enough for your own company. But time changes the way nights feel. Somewhere along the way, the bed begins to look too big for just one body. You notice the other pillow lying untouched— a silent witness to the conversations that never happened, to the laughter that didn’t spill into the night, to the “goodnight” that was never whispered in the dark. It whispers memories into your ear, presses its cold weight against your chest, and reminds you of every conversation you wish you could have at 2 a.m. At first, you think you m...

Love is not just a feeling—it is a force, a sacred fire that holds within it a beauty so profound and a magic so gentle, that no other power in existence can compare. It doesn’t seek to dominate, to control, or to overpower. It doesn’t shout, demand, or force its way into hearts. Love arrives softly. It doesn’t need permission to bloom, yet it never trespasses. It never tries to win, yet it always triumphs. Even in the face of the harshest aggression, love stands unshaken. All anger, ego, and control melt in its presence—dissolving quietly, almost reverently. Love doesn't fight. It transforms. It doesn’t break down walls; it makes them irrelevant. Where there was once poison, love brings purity. Where there was death—in spirit, in hope, in joy—love breathes new life. And where there was numbness, love stirs a dance—ecstatic, sacred, free. Life without love is not truly life. It is a shell, a routine, a muted existence. You may laugh, eat, succeed—but without love, there...

He asked me, with a playful smirk, "So, when’s the next time you’re going to fight with me?" And I smiled, the kind of smile that hides more than it shows, "The day you come to me and say you’ve found the one for yourself— That day, I’ll fight with you." Not out of anger. Not out of jealousy. But because something inside me will shatter. That day… When another girl touches you. When your eyes hold someone the way I always wished they’d hold me.— When your heart belongs elsewhere—, I will stand still, bleeding without blood. And yes— I’ll say a lot of things. I might punch your shoulder, your stomach, your chest— Not to hurt you, But to stop myself from hugging you one last time. And in the end, I will take your hand— That same hand I used to imagine slipping a ring onto someday. I will kiss it, softly, as if it’s my final prayer. And I will hold you in a hug that says all the things words failed to. One that says: I’m happy for you. I’m lett...

I’m in love with you. Not just the kind of love that flickers in and out — but the kind that settles deep in your bones, that lingers in your breath, and quietly changes the way your heart beats. I’m in love with you, and I know it with every aching, stubborn, fragile part of me. Because no matter where I go, no matter what I do — You’re there. In the silence between thoughts, In the pauses between heartbeats, You’re there. I picture you beside me every morning — your sleepy eyes, your warmth pressed against me like it’s the only place I was ever meant to be. That’s how I want to wake up for the rest of my life— Not to alarms, not to sunlight — But to you. Just you. When I close my eyes and think about the future… you’re in it. Not just as a passing figure — But as the constant. The arms I run to, the name I whisper in prayer, the voice that calms the storms I never tell anyone about. You’ve become the light in my darkest days, The stillness in all my noise. You’ve become the rea...

She had stopped asking for forever a long time ago. Not because she didn’t believe in love — but because she had tasted what it felt like to give everything and still not be chosen. What she craved wasn’t eternity anymore — it was just one day. One day where she could know, not imagine. One day where she wouldn’t have to wonder what it feels like to be loved like you’re the only one in the world. “Can I have you for just one day?” She didn’t say it loudly — it was more of a prayer than a question. “Just for one day… can you pretend I’m yours? Choose me, the way I’ve always chosen you… without pause, without fear, without conditions.One day where I wake up beside you, open my eyes and find yours already waiting… filled with love, not confusion. One day where I don’t have to wonder if I’m enough — because your arms say it all.” She wanted that morning. That moment. Waking up in his arms, the sunlight falling softly across the sheets, their legs tangled, the world quiet. His sleep...

It was a full moon night and Christmas Eve. The sky above was dressed in moonlight, the streets below glimmered with festive lights, and a cold hush wrapped the world like a soft blanket. But in her heart, something unfamiliar stirred — a quiet excitement, a tremble that came not from the winter, but from something about to begin. She didn’t go out looking for magic that night. But magic found her anyway — in the shape of him. He didn’t arrive with noise or chaos. He came softly, like a calm breeze that brushes your face without warning. His presence was not loud, but it lingered. The kind of presence that makes you forget the world for a moment — the kind you remember for a lifetime. There was something about the way he looked at her — not with desire, not with urgency, but with softness. And before he touched her, he asked for her permission. That one gesture — so small, so rare — melted something inside her. His lips on hers didn’t feel like fire. They felt stillness — like a la...

No one ever saw me bleeding, because my pain wasn’t visible. There were no bruises, no broken bones. Just this constant, quiet ache inside me that I carried every day. The kind of pain that doesn’t scream out loud but grows heavier in silence. The kind that makes you sit in a room full of people, smiling, laughing even — while inside, you’re barely holding yourself together. Most days, I pretended to be okay. I’d nod, say the right things, show up when I had to. But a part of me always wished someone would really look at me and ask, “Are you truly okay?” And mean it. Not out of politeness — but because they could feel something was off. Because they cared enough to notice. I loved people deeply. Gave them the best of me. I was always the one trying harder, holding on longer, giving more — hoping someone would do the same for me. But they didn’t. I loved like it was everything, and they received it like it was nothing. I stayed loyal, even when they grew distant. I gave warmth, even w...

The distance between us isn’t because I stopped loving you. It’s because I couldn’t keep watching your actions hurt me. I couldn’t bear seeing you do the very things I begged you not to. You said you gave me distance as you didn’t want to give me hope, but that hope was the only thing keeping me alive. Now, I choose to stay away—not because I hate you, but because being near you hurts more than I can handle and I will have hope. Yes you said that there is no fight between us; fights can be fixed, isn't it. But this can’t. The bond we shared is over, and you made that choice. You said you don't see me as your partner and I can't see you with anyone else as their partner, and hence I decided to walk out. People warned me about you—those who knew you well too said said you wouldn’t stand for me, that you weren’t the right man. But I didn’t listen. I kept choosing you, time and time again, because I believed in the love I saw in your eyes. Were they right about you? Maybe. ...

That evening, I gathered all the courage I had and confessed my feelings to him. I was terrified, afraid that my honesty would change everything between us. And it did. The night marked a turning point—he wasn’t the same with me, and I wasn't the same happy girl I use to be. I had always believed that being honest and loyal was the best way to be, but sometimes, I wonder if keeping your emotions hidden is the better choice, because not everyone can handle the truth. Love— should one express it or leave it unsaid? I still don’t have the answer. I never wanted to hurt him. I thought that by finally telling him how I felt, we could be closer. But instead, my confessions made him declare everything between us as a mistake. That crushed me. I wanted to say, “Can you just call what we had an open relationship and not friends with benefits?” Maybe that would make sense. Yes, you’re right. You never promised me anything, not a relationship, nor marriage, in the past four years. It...

The holiday season has a way of amplifying everything we feel we’re missing. While the world seems busy jetting off to exotic getaways, sharing snapshots of warm family gatherings, or dancing the night away with friends, here I am—curled up in my room, swirling a glass of wine, drowning in a tide of emotions I’ve kept at bay all year long. Loneliness? It sits heavily beside me. Stress? Looming like a storm cloud. Anxiety? On overdrive. Depression? Let’s not even go there. And then, there’s the absence of companionship—the sharpest ache of all. It feels like everyone’s paired up in these perfect, Instagram-worthy moments, while I’m just a spectator, scrolling, liking, and commenting with all the sincerity in my heart. No bitterness, just quiet acceptance. I’m happy for their joy, truly. But in the stillness, I can’t help but acknowledge my own emptiness. With each swirl of wine in my glass, I feel my emotions whirl alongside it. Is it the drink or the season that stirs this longing...