#konsi disha mein ja rhi hai zindagi

[tumharaaaashiq]

The Woman I Loved, The Hurt I Inflicted

There are some wounds that time doesn’t heal. Wounds you carry like a shadow, stitched into your very being. Hers was one of them. She wasn’t just a girl. She was the girl. The kind of person who walks into your life and turns it into something you never thought it could be. She gave me everything. More than everything, really. She gave me pieces of herself I didn’t even know a person could give. Her time, her trust, her laughter, her love. And I took it all with my hands that didn’t deserve to hold something so fragile, so precious.

And then I broke it.

I don’t know if it was carelessness or fear or some deep flaw in me that I’ve never been able to name. Maybe it doesn’t even matter. What matters is that I hurt her. Whether my heart was in the right place or not, it doesn’t change the fact that hers ended up shattered. And when you hurt someone like that, someone who loved you so purely, so completely, you don’t just lose them. You lose yourself too.

People talk about forgiveness like it’s this holy thing, like it’s the answer to every sin we commit against each other and ourselves. But how do you forgive yourself when you’ve hurt the person God made for you? How do you look in the mirror and say, “It’s okay,” when you know it’s not? When you know it never will be?

I think about her sometimes, more often than I’d like to admit. I think about the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, the way she saw beauty in me that I would have loathed otherwise. The way she looked at me, like I was something good, something worth believing in. And then I think about how I ruined that. How I took all that light and love and turned it into pain.

If life ever gave me another chance with her, and God knows it won’t, but if it did? I probably wouldn’t take it. Not because I don’t want to. Hell, there’s nothing in this world I’d want more than to hold her again, to try to make things right. But wanting isn’t enough. Love isn’t enough. Not when you know you’re capable of hurting someone like that.

Because here’s the thing, no matter how much I’ve changed, no matter how much better or wiser or kinder I think I’ve become, there’s always a risk. A tiny sliver of a chance that I could hurt her again. And even if that chance is one in a million, it’s too much. She deserves better than that. Better than me.

So no, I wouldn’t take the chance. Because loving someone sometimes means stepping back and letting them go. It means accepting that your place in their story has come to an end and hoping, praying, that their next chapter is brighter without you in it.

And maybe one day, when the weight of this guilt feels less crushing, when the memory of her smile doesn’t feel like both a gift and a punishment, maybe then I’ll find a way to forgive myself.

But not today.

Not yet.