Nysa's POV

Where pain is shared, challenged, and slowly understood

> Naysa:

Can I tell you something really personal?

> Apurv:

Always.

> Naysa:

I’ve never celebrated my birthday properly since 5th grade.

> Apurv:

What? Why?

> Naysa:

That year… our school took us to an orphanage on my birthday.

I was just 12.

I saw those kids — laughing, playing, but without a family.

And I made a promise to myself that day.

I’ll celebrate my birthday again only when I open an orphanage.

For girls.

For little versions of me who feel left out in a world that moves too fast.

> Apurv:

That’s… intense. But beautiful.

> Naysa:

I told this once to my brother.

He laughed.

Said, “Will your husband allow you to adopt a girl?”

Like… it wasn’t even my dream to keep.

> Apurv:

Ouch.

> Naysa:

And for a second today… when I told you I want to adopt, and you said why not your own,

I felt like I was hearing my brother again.

And it broke something in me.

So I stopped texting you. For hour

> Apurv:

Wait.

Is that why you stopped replying for hours?

> Naysa:

Yeah.

But then my heart didn’t let me sit quietly either.

So I came back.

Tell me honestly…

Why won’t he allow me?

Why can’t a girl dream freely?

> Apurv:

Naysa…

It’s not that he won’t.

It’s just… maybe he’ll have dreams too.

Maybe he’ll want a child who looks like him, carries his smile.

Like you have a childhood ache, he might have one too.

And when two dreams clash… you don’t cancel one.

You find a middle ground.

That’s love, na?

> Naysa:

I never thought like that.

I guess… I was scared.

Scared that someone would make me choose.

Like my parents did.

They left me with my grandparents when I was small — said it’s for my “good education.”

Then came back suddenly and uprooted me again.

I didn’t get to choose.

I just… adapted.

And sometimes, I hate them for it.

> Apurv:

I get it.

But maybe…

your future daughter shouldn’t carry that weight either.

Love has to be chosen, not just given.

> Naysa:

You’re right.

What if she hates me too?

What if she feels unwanted because I wanted to “save” her?

> Apurv:

Then you’ll listen to her.

You’ll hold her hand.

And you’ll do what you’re doing now —

question everything, for love.

> Naysa:

Apurv…?

> Apurv:

Hmm?

> Naysa:

I think I just fell for you again.

Not the you everyone warned me about.

But this one.

The one who listens — not just to me…

but to the version of me even I forgot existed.

Maybe… someday. And maybe not. But I’ll wait anyway.”

They were still texting.

The night had wrapped itself around Naysa’s hostel window, but she was wide awake.

Eyes tired, heart heavier.

Apurv’s message flashed on her screen.

> Apurv:

Naysa…

I never moved on from her.

And maybe… one day I will.

But I can’t promise anything after that.

I don’t know if I’ll ever feel anything for you.

It wouldn’t be fair to let you wait… for someone who may never arrive.

She read it once.

Then again.

And then just… sat in the dark, letting those words settle into her bones like a silent winter.

He wasn't playing with her.

He wasn’t leading her on.

He was just… telling the truth.

But the truth never stopped the heart from dreaming.

And her stupid, stubborn heart… still hoped.

She started typing. Deleting and typing.

> Naysa:

I know.

I know you don’t see me like that.

I know she still lives in a corner of your heart where I’ll never reach.

But Apurv…

Even if there's just 1% chance, I’ll take it.

Maybe one day… you’ll look at me and see more than just a friend.

Maybe you’ll wake up and feel a shift.

And maybe you won’t.

But if you do… I’ll still be here.

I’ll still be the girl who stayed — not because I’m foolish,

but because I believed in the goodness I saw in you.

Silence.

It stretched between them like a fog.

And then he replied.

> Apurv:

Naysa… you’re going to get hurt.

And I don’t want that to be my fault.

I don’t want to become a shadow that dims your light.

> Naysa:

Maybe I’ll get hurt.

Maybe I already am.

But it’s my heart, Apurv.

Let me love you in silence.

Let me stay, even if it’s only at a distance.

One day, maybe…

You’ll choose me.

She didn’t cry that night.

Not because it didn’t hurt.

But because this… was her choice.

To wait.

To hope.

To love — even when it wasn’t returned.

She stared at the ceiling for a long time.

And then, she whispered into the quiet, half to herself, half to the stars:

"Even if I’m not the one he wants today… maybe love will come softly, like rain after drought. And maybe… he’ll see me then."

That night, when the hostel lights went off and silence took over the walls, Naysa lay curled beneath her blanket, phone clutched to her chest like it could bring her some warmth.

Apurv’s words kept echoing in her mind.

> “I never moved on from her.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever feel anything for you.”

Her chest felt tight — like the universe had folded inward and placed all its weight right on her ribs.

She sat up in the dark, whispering into the hollow night like it was her only witness:

“Is she that perfect?”

She didn’t even know who the girl was.

The one who came before her.

The one who still lived in Apurv’s heart like an unburned incense — fragrant, familiar, unforgettable.

What did she do that Naysa couldn't?

Was she prettier?

Smarter?

More important?

And the question she hated the most —

“Was she more lovable than me?”

It was not jealousy. It was comparison.

That silent poison that eats a girl from the inside.

Naysa wasn’t angry at her.

She was angry at herself.

For not being enough to make him forget.

She didn’t want to take her place.

She just wanted a place — in his today, not just in the shadows of his yesterday.

She whispered again, choking on the words:

“Why can’t he even try?”

“Am I that forgettable?”

But then she thought of how gently he spoke.

How he didn’t fake emotions.

How he didn’t lie to keep her hanging.

And somehow that hurt more — because it meant his honesty was real.

And so was his distance.

She turned to her diary and began to write, her hands trembling:

---

Diary Entry — 2:14 AM

I’m not angry at her.

But I’m tired of competing with her ghost.

Apurv… why do you still choose the memory of her over the presence of me?

I’m not asking for your forever.

Just a chance in your now.

I swear I’d be careful with your heart.

I swear I’d never break the parts she couldn’t fix.

But maybe…

She didn’t break you.

Maybe you still love her.

And maybe that’s what love really is.

When even time gives up, but your heart doesn’t.

I wonder if you’ll ever look at me and see me —

Not as a friend.

Not as a phase.

But as someone who tried to love you even when I knew the odds.

I don’t want to be compared.

I just want to be chosen.

But tonight, I’ll sleep with the truth —

You’re still hers.

And I’m still yours.

Even if that’s the most uneven equation I’ve ever known.

---You know what’s the worst part?

It’s not that you don’t love me.

It’s not even that you might never love me.

It’s that despite knowing this —

I still choose you.

Over and over and over again.

When I close my eyes, it’s you.

When I smile without a reason, it’s probably because you crossed my mind.

And when I hear your name in the most casual of conversations,

My heart still skips that stupid beat.

Like it doesn’t know better.

Like it hasn’t already been told a hundred times: You’re not mine.

People tell me I have options.

And maybe, they’re right.

Maybe I do.

But what they don’t understand is —

I don’t want “options.”

I want you.

Not because you’re perfect.

God knows, you’re not.

You flirt without thinking,

You run from emotions,

You speak of love like it’s a distraction — not a destination.

But you’re real.

So beautifully, maddeningly, honestly real.

You talk about dreams like they’re galaxies you haven’t visited yet.

You carry pain like it’s stitched into your skin,

And you walk like you’re never afraid of being alone.

But I see it.

I see the cracks.

And I love them.

I love you in a way that makes no sense.

In a way that hurts and heals at the same time.

In a way that makes people call me naive, foolish, blind.

And maybe I am.

But if loving you is foolishness,

Let me be the most beautiful fool alive.

Because I’d rather cry over you than smile with someone else.

I’d rather wait for your “maybe” than settle for someone else’s “always.”

I’d rather be hurt by your silence

Than be comforted by words that don’t feel like yours.

I don’t love you because I expect something back.

I love you because I can’t not love you.

Because even when my heart is heavy,

Even when my pillow is soaked,

Even when my mind screams “let go,”

Something — something stubborn and soft and stupid — whispers:

“Just once more. Choose him. Just once more.”

And I do.

Even if you never ask me to.

Even if you never turn around.

Even if you never feel what I feel.

I still choose you.

Always, you.

Even if it means losing pieces of myself every time.

And after pouring her soul out onto pages that would never be read,

She closed the diary gently —

as if afraid even the silence might mock her tenderness.

The moonlight spilled across her bed like a quiet witness,

glowing softly on the tear-stained corners of her pillow.

She didn’t wipe her tears tonight.

She let them fall.

Every single one of them.

For the words she never said.

For the dreams she never shared.

For the love she gave —

without ever asking for anything in return.

And then, in the hush between two sobs,

something broke — not loudly,

but in a way that only the heart understands.

She curled herself beneath the weight of everything unsaid,

wrapped her arms around her knees,

and let exhaustion cradle her.

The ache hummed in her chest like a lullaby no one should ever hear,

but it sang her to sleep anyway.

And as her lashes kissed her cheeks,

the last tear clung stubbornly —

before surrendering too.

She fell asleep that night,

not because the pain was gone,

but because her soul was tired

of feeling it all at once.

And in the soft, tragic poetry of the night,

she slept —

not like someone who had let go,

but like someone who had finally admitted...

she was holding on to nothing.