Nysa's POV

Some nights arrived quietly — like grief with bare feet.

It was one of those. The hostel corridor buzzed faintly with late-night laughter, but her room felt like an island, far from any warmth. Naysa sat on the floor, her back pressed against the cold wall, phone clutched in her hand though the screen had long gone dark.

Her heart was a wild ache.

It had been months, but some names don’t lose their sharpness.

Apurv.

She didn’t say it aloud. She never did. But inside, it echoed louder than any scream.

She whispered to herself, almost apologetically, “Why… why didn’t he choose me?”

Her chest clenched — not from heartbreak anymore, but from not being enough.

Not being enough to be stayed for.

Not being enough to be loved like she loved.

Tears fell fast, silent and angry.

All the moments they shared — the texts, the temple, the conversations about dreams and daughters, the wait she had waited so stupidly, desperately.

And still, he walked away — with certainty, with no regret. Like she was just another season.

She didn’t realize she had texted Aarav.

"I’m not okay today."

Within minutes, her phone buzzed.

A call. From Aarav.

Not a text. Not a voice note. A call. Real. Present. Alive.

She didn’t pick up.

And then again.

And again.

Finally, she answered, voice cracking, “What?”

He didn’t ask what happened. He already knew.

“Naysa,” he said, softly, firmly. “Stop doing this to yourself.”

She wanted to argue, but all that came out was a sob. Raw. Unfiltered.

“I loved him, Aarav,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I really, really loved him. And he just—left. Like I didn’t matter.”

Silence.

Then he spoke. Slowly. Measured. Like he had held these words in his mouth for too long.

“It’s never about who leaves, Naysa,” he said. “It’s always about who stays.”

She closed her eyes. Tears still slipping.

“He chose not to love you. But I did.”

The room spun. Her breath caught. “What?”

“I love you, Naysa,” he said, steady now. “Not because I have to. Not because it’s convenient. But because in your chaos, in your stories, in your softness — you made me believe again. You… and only you.”

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

“I don’t want you to cry for someone who made you feel unwanted,” he continued. “Because you were always enough. He just didn’t see it.”

Her hands trembled.

“I love you,” he said again. “I don’t want to lose you. So please, don’t lose yourself mourning someone who never looked back.”

Her silence was louder than her crying now. The storm had broken inside her — the dam had given way — and in its place, something new bloomed.

Then, finally, she asked the question that sat like glass in her throat.

“Is it wrong… to still want someone who doesn’t want you?”

Aarav exhaled. His fingers were loosely intertwined, gaze calm.

“Naysa,” he said slowly, “do you remember that time you held onto a glass jar too tight, and it broke in your hand?”

She looked up, surprised. “When I was a kid?”

He nodded. “Your hand was bleeding. But you still held the broken jar.”

She looked away. “I was scared it would fall completely. That the pieces would scatter.”

“That’s what you’re doing with Apurv,” he said gently. “You’re holding onto something that’s already shattered — and it’s cutting into you more each time you squeeze tighter.”

Her eyes welled up. “But I loved him, Aarav. I still—”

“I know,” he said. “But love shouldn’t hurt like this. Love doesn’t feel like begging to be chosen.”

She hugged her knees tighter. “Then why can’t I let go?”

He shifted closer, his voice quieter now. “Because we’re taught that the stronger we hold, the longer someone will stay. But people are not things. They don’t stay because of how hard we love them. They stay because they choose to.”

“But I thought—” Her voice cracked. “If I wait… if I show I’m still there… he’ll see that I’m worth it.”

“Naysa…” Aarav leaned forward. “Sometimes, holding on becomes a form of self-punishment. You think you’re proving your love — but really, you’re proving that you’re okay being second. Or worse… being invisible.”

Her lip trembled. “He was my everything.”

“And that’s where it hurt you,” Aarav said, voice firm now. “Because when he left, you lost everything. You didn’t keep anything for yourself.”

Tears streamed down her face. She didn’t wipe them.

He continued, “I’ve seen you cry over someone who doesn’t even know you’re breaking. I’ve seen you pause your life for someone who didn’t bother showing up.”

She whispered, “Then what do I do, Aarav? How do I stop?”

He looked at her for a long time, then asked softly, “Do you trust me?”

She nodded.

“Then listen. One day, your heart will still ache when you hear his name. But it won’t break. You’ll smile at old memories, but they won’t sting. One day, you’ll stop romanticizing the pain — and realize it was never love if it only ever made you bleed.”

She was silent.

“You’re not weak for feeling this way,” Aarav added. “But you’re hurting because you’re holding a version of him in your head — not the real one who left. You deserve love that stays, Naysa. Love that chooses you — not love you have to beg for.”

She looked at him now, eyes raw. “Do you think I’ll ever forget him?”

He smiled gently. “No. But you’ll outgrow him. And that will hurt a little less than trying to fit into the memory of someone who never stayed.”

She looked down at her palms, as if searching for those old invisible wounds — the ones that came from holding on too long.

Then Aarav added something that broke her completely and softly all at once.

“Sometimes, love is not about holding tighter. It’s about knowing when to release, so you can breathe again.”

A tear slipped from her cheek as she whispered, “And you? Why are you still here?”

He shrugged, smiling slightly. “Because I won’t ask you to bleed to prove you care. I’m just here… until you’re ready to believe someone can stay.”

The silence between them was full of understanding — not forced comfort, not promises — but something deeper.

Safety.

---

Later That Night

Back in her room, Naysa sat by the window.

She looked at the night sky and whispered to it,

“Maybe tonight… I’ll try loosening my grip a little.”

Just a little.

Because Aarav was right.

Her hands were bleeding, and her heart deserved rest.

She didn’t know if she'd ever stop loving Apurv.

But maybe… she could start loving herself more.

And maybe someday, when she was ready —

She could finally hold someone's hand without hurting.