Rain fell in soft, uneven rhythms on the city streets, turning asphalt into rivers of reflected light. She walked alone under the hum of neon signs and the occasional shuttered café, her umbrella a flimsy shield against the monsoon that mirrored the quiet tempest inside her. In a world that rushed past, everyone chasing immediacy, she carried a secret rhythm of her own—a silent heartbeat that belonged to nobody yet resonated with everything. She had learned to move through life like a shadow in a crowded room, unnoticed but observing. The way people laughed too loudly, touched too quickly, and whispered promises they would forget by sunset made her chest tighten with both longing and a strange relief. She understood now that love in its rawest form need not always be possessed. Sometimes, it merely needed to exist, in glances, in shared silences, in the tiny, fleeting spaces between two souls. He appeared as if conjured by the same monsoon magic. Not in a grand gesture, but in a s...
By CogniGirl
He had a crush in class 11. Cute, right? Classic classroom whisper, stolen glances, that teeny-tiny spark. I didn’t feel much back then. But love? It plays hide and seek sometimes.
I caught feelings in class 12. When distance crept in like silence at midnight, my heart started filling with questions he never cared to answer.
We met a few times. Maybe three or four. A long-distance “relationship,” if you could even call it that. Hand holding, awkward smiles, and words like "I’ll marry you one day." Words that now feel like they were copy-pasted straight off some cheap Shayari page on Instagram.
He once sent me this line — “Tujh mein rab dikhta hai.”
Bro, Google dikhta hai. Rab nahi.
The first month was sweet. You know that kind of fake honeymoon phase where your heart says, “This is it,” and your brain goes on a mini vacation?
Then came the storm. Unread messages. Weeks of silence. The ghosting. The seen-zoned pain.
It broke me.
I used to cry quietly, in the corners of my mind, while pretending everything was okay. I had other storms in life, but this?
This was the slow death of a dream I built with someone who didn’t even bring bricks.
Then yesterday — out of nowhere — we spoke again. After years.
I was prepared for closure.
Instead, I got a slap of brutal honesty that felt like betrayal in disguise.
He said: “I never loved you. You were just a crush. I only felt something for a moment because of old memories. You were clever. You used people.”
Me? Clever? Bro, I was crying over your three-dot typing bubble like it was the Bhagavad Gita.
Let’s get this straight:
I wasn’t clever.
I was in love.
I was naïve.
I was waiting for messages that never came.
I was choosing someone who chose silence. Every. Single. Time.
He wasn’t confused. He was calculated.
And I? I was just collateral in his boredom.
They say first love stays with you. I disagree. Sometimes, it haunts you until you finally see the ghost for what it is — hollow, ungrateful, and not worthy of the altar you built in your heart.
I blocked him. Not out of anger, but out of awakening.
Because love isn’t blind — it's just blurry when your eyes are full of tears.
This isn’t just a story. This is my emotional postmortem.
And if you’ve ever felt neglected, misled, or made to feel “too much,” I see you.
Let’s not romanticize pain disguised as love.
Let’s stop finding our first loves in every new face.
That bubble? Pop it.
That ghost? Block it.
That girl? Rebuild her.
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