Have you ever looked at a couple and thought, "Waa, they must have been made in heaven by God Himself"?
From a distance, they look perfect—smiling, holding hands, laughing at little secrets only they share. Strangers admire them and whisper, "Such a heavenly couple." But what most people don't see is the weight of their journey—the sleepless nights, the misunderstandings, the silent tears, the sacrifices, and the countless times they almost gave up but didn't.
The truth is, love is not always soft. Sometimes it feels like sandpaper against skin—rough, painful, testing. And when two people with opposite values and interests come together, it's like fire and water trying to exist in the same space. One wants to burn; the other wants to calm. And yet, when they somehow manage to stay side by side, it feels like a rare miracle.
But I often wonder—how long can that miracle last?
Will it survive time, temptations, and human selfishness?
Or will it shatter the moment one of them finds someone "better"?
Because people forget. That's the bitter truth. They forget your efforts, your sacrifices, your sleepless nights of care. And when they meet someone new, someone brighter, they walk away, leaving you wondering if you were ever enough.
I remember a line I once read that struck me like a stone falling into still water:
"Waqt ne sab sikhaya, par waqt par nahi sikhaya."
(Time taught me everything, but never at the right time.)
As a child, I believed learning came from schools, exams, and grades. I thought maturity was something you received on graduation day, packed neatly into a certificate. But life taught me otherwise. The real lessons don't come from classrooms. They come from time—from broken friendships, unexpected betrayals, moments of silence, and nights when sleep refuses to arrive because your mind won't stop replaying memories.
With time, I learned to enjoy my own company. I learned that loneliness is not always an enemy; sometimes it's a mirror that shows you who you really are.
With time, I lost many friendships I thought would last forever. But in their place, I found a few rare souls who stayed by me—even when I pushed them away, even when I distanced myself. Those are the ones who matter.
With time, I learned to stand up to those who mocked me, those who thought I would always remain small. And yet, I also learned patience—to let go of pointless arguments, to stop wasting my energy on people who refuse to understand. Some people don't listen because they don't want to. And when you realize that, the smartest thing you can do is to walk away.
Time also taught me something else: people are not "home." Home is not found in another human being. People are like rivers—they flow, they shift, they change direction without warning. If you anchor your entire existence to someone else, you risk drowning the moment they drift away.
And maybe… this is where my story begins.
With a lie.
It wasn't a grand lie, not something told with evil intentions. No, it was small—fragile, like a thread. But threads, once pulled, unravel entire fabrics. My lie was supposed to protect me, to shield my heart, to save me from pain. But instead, it drew me into a story I never expected—a story of love, betrayal, and truth.
When I met him, it wasn't love at first sight. In fact, it wasn't even friendship. He was everything I wasn't—loud where I was quiet, reckless where I was careful, stubborn where I was patient. We should have clashed from the very beginning. And maybe we did. But life, in its strange way, tied our paths together.
And so, a journey began—one stitched together not by honesty, but by a single lie.
I didn't know then that this lie would change everything.
That it would make me question who I was.
That it would make me fall in love with someone I never thought I could.
But every story has a beginning.
And mine began with a lie.