The Stranger I Like (2.6)

 [Chapter 2]

Scarlet

- Pain that shapes who we become 

Time has a cruel way of shifting realities in the blink of an eye. The story that once felt like a dreamy Bollywood romance, filled with laughter and heart-fluttering moments, now stands eerily still—like a garden that suddenly forgot how to bloom. The happiness I carried for him, has now dissolved into something I never anticipated—Tears.

Not because he did something wrong. Not because of some tragic betrayal. But because of a single sentence—just a few words strung together that managed to dismantle everything I had quietly built in my heart. I don’t even know how to react, what to say, how to breathe through this ache sitting heavy on my chest. I should be understanding—I have to be understanding. But why does it still sting so much? Maybe… because this is reality finally catching up to me.

A few days ago, my cousin told me, "Too much obsession can wither the bond." I laughed it off, thinking, Not us. Not this. After all, it was only the beginning of something beautiful, something sacred. I had already started falling, already started worshipping him like he was my own, already convinced that, someday, somehow, the universe would align things in our favor. But I forgot one thing—Love needs Balance. And I had none. I had given my heart the steering wheel with no brakes in sight. And well… we all know what happens to a vehicle without brakes.

I crashed.

The wounds didn’t show at first, but they bled deep. A casual conversation, a simple revelation—I can never be the one. Not now. Not ever.

Lately, as Valentine’s week approached, I had been watching my friends post about their relationships, their partners, their picture-perfect moments, and something inside me stirred. I wanted to do something too. I couldn’t buy him gifts, couldn’t surprise him with grand gestures—we were distant after all. But I had words. And so I wrote. Poetry, letters, emotions poured into lines, hoping that maybe, for once, I could offer him something straight from my heart.

But maybe the universe didn’t like the idea.

I playfully sent him a text, one that carried more meaning than it should have, and his response? No. Not rude, not cruel—just enough to remind me that while I was busy carving a space for him in my world, he had never even considered making room for me in his.

He didn’t owe me anything. I knew that. I never expected him to feel the same way. I had always told myself, "Even if he never chooses me, I will still admire him from afar, still wish for his happiness." And, when the rejection finally came—not even as a rejection, just a passing statement that held more weight than he knew—I felt something inside me break. It’s strange, isn’t it? How you prepare yourself for something, convince yourself you’ll handle it with grace, and then, when it actually happens, you stand there, trembling, completely unprepared.

It wasn’t just about love. It was about the belief I had held onto—the idea that maybe, just maybe, we were meant to be something someday.

The emotions I had for him weren’t fleeting desires or shallow admiration—they were roots, which was deep, buried somewhere I couldn’t even reach to pull them out. Every time I saw him smile, it felt like a silent whisper from the universe, a reassurance that there was something between us. A connection that's powerful, like the invisible string that ties two souls together across lifetimes. Didn’t he feel it? Not even once?

Then why me?

Why was I the only one who felt like I had known him in some past life, like we had walked together before and were meant to meet again in this one? And now, we were nothing. How could a bond so strong on one side feel like a mere thread—fragile, insignificant—on the other? Why didn’t he feel the same spark?

Or maybe… was I forcing it?

Was my over-expressiveness suffocating? Did I unknowingly put a weight on him that he never wanted to carry? I tried to convince myself that maybe that was the reason. Maybe my feelings were too loud for his quiet heart. But no—he never said that. Not once.

Maybe I was just never his type. Never the girl he imagined standing beside him in the picture of his future. Maybe it wasn’t about anything I did wrong. Maybe it was just me. Something about me that could never fit into the idea of the person he would fall for. And that? That was unchangeable.

And no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t build his feelings for me. Love doesn’t work that way.

But…

Why was there still a but?

Why was I unable to just accept this? Move forward, let it go like it was just another passing moment? What a ridiculous question. As if it’s so easy for a girl to take it lightly. The girl who, with every heartbeat, had built her world around someone—who felt a connection so strong it felt like destiny—how does she just wake up one day and say, "Okay, fine, I wasn't meant for him."

She doesn’t.

But she has to.

I wanted to cry. And so I did. I sat there, whispering my heartbreak to Madhav, my only solace. "I know he’s a good person, I know he never meant to hurt me, but why does it feel like I just lost something I never even had?"

Madhav, ever patient, ever kind, reminded me: "Don’t cry, my child. If someone is meant for you, neither time nor distance, neither choices nor circumstances, can change that. And if they aren’t, then all the love in the world won’t be enough to keep them."

I tried to hold onto that, to stitch it into my heart, but the wounds were still fresh. My mind was restless, swirling with questions I didn’t have answers to. Did I make a mistake by being too open? Was I too much? Did I unknowingly push him away?

The weight of it all sat heavy on my chest, pressing, suffocating. I didn’t want to feel sad, but grief isn’t something you control—it takes you when it wants, and it drowns you before you even realize you're sinking.

Frustration took over next. Why was I like this? Why did I have to be so expressive, so open, so… raw? I had written pages for him, words soaked in love and admiration, ready to send them during Valentine’s week, and now? I wanted to delete them all. Every single word. Every single thought. Because in the end, who suffers from over-loving? Me.

But if there’s one thing pain always does, it teaches. And this time, it taught me something I will never forget—never over-express your emotions, because time changes, and eventually, it hurts.