Pain, he thought, was something he already understood, his own, at least. But life reveals itself in layers, and some layers cut deeper than heartbreak.
He had liked her since ninth grade.
Too shy to talk.
Too introverted to confess.
He kept his feelings folded neatly inside.
But fate didn't wait for him.
She walked up to him first. She already knew—somehow—and instead of ignoring him, she talked. One conversation became many, and slowly, their bond grew deeper until she finally confessed.
For a year, everything was soft, young, and pure.
Until her sister told him the truth.
Her father had found out.
And life for her became a battlefield.
He insulted her.
Humiliated her.
Punished her for loving the "wrong" person.
Yet she endured it all.
For him.
For their future.
Then her cousin delivered the final blow:
"He's from a different religion."
That was all it took.
Her father's anger became constant.
Her home became suffocating.
She broke quietly every night.
When she finally confessed to him—crying, shaking—his heart shattered in a way he didn't wish on anyone.
But even then, she said she would endure.
"One day I'll convince him…"
But he knew better.
He knew her father.
He knew the cost of waiting.
He knew the scars she would gather.
So he did the hardest thing he had ever done.
He convinced her to let go.
He broke his own heart so hers wouldn't break forever.
Even today, he sometimes wonders if he made the right choice.
But then he remembers:
At least she didn't have to suffer more.
And that was enough.